>      „!!■' 


..,  ^ 


U/  i^' 


VAL  OF  PAEADISE 


VAL     HANNON    DRIFTED    DOWN    ACROSS    THE    BUNCH- 
GRASS  LEVELS  ON  THE  GREAT  RED  KING         Page  31 


VAL  OF  PARADISE 


BY 
VINGIE   E.   ROE 

AUTHOR  OF  **THE  MAID  OF  THE  WHISPERING  HILLS/ 
*'THARON  OF  LOST  VALLEY,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


COFTRIOHT,    1921 

Bv  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  Inc. 


\ 


fSkt  ^btinn  Sc  gobew  Company 

BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAH  WAY  NEW     JERSEY 


c,(.l 

iRbt  ys 

imL 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTBB 

PAOB 

I 

John  Hannon's  Firmament    . 

1 

II 

High  Play 

9 

III 

The  Friends  op  Paradise 

27 

IV 

The  Cross  in  the  Wilderness 

35 

V 

"Why  Don't  You  Run  Redstab?" 

48 

VI 

The  Cry  of  A  Desert  Owl 

58 

VII 

The  Fourth  at  Santa  Leandra 

71 

VIII 

A  Rustler's  Hand 

85 

IX 

The  Light  of  Dawning  Fires 

102 

X 

Val  Calls 

114 

XI 

The  Lure  of  the  Padre's  Garden 

.     127 

XII 

The  Cry  in  the  Blind  Trail  Hills 

.     144 

XIII 

Deep  Waters       ...... 

147 

XIV 

The  Stirring  Talk     .... 

.     158 

XV 

On  the  Rim  of  Mesa  Grande    . 

.     168 

XVI 

The  Vixen's  Heart     .... 

.     183 

XVII 

Bbiston  Does  Some  Thinking 

.     190 

XVIII 
XIX 

The  Face  in  the  Doorway 

,     199 

The  Black  Rustler  Rides 

.     210 

XX 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man    . 

.     220 

XXI 

Home  to  the  Fields  of  Paradise    . 

.     230 

A/15GG098 


VAL  OF  PARADISE 

CHAPTEE  I 

JOHN   HANNON'S  firmament 

PARADISE!  What  words  shall  one  choose 
to  tell  of  it  and  those  who  made  it — of  its 
beauty,  its  strength  and  its  arrogance? 

In  a  land  where  distance  hazed  the  southern 
skyline,  where  tawny  buttes  and  mesas  stood  ma- 
jestically against  the  blue,  where  bunch-grass  lev- 
els swept  toward  the  illimitable  west  and  the 
Blind  Trail  Hills  rose  stark  and  forbidding  upon 
the  east,  it  lay  like  the  heart  of  peace  itself,  smiling 
in  the  sun,  green  with  its  wide  alfalfa  fields  beneath 
its  living  waters.  Tall  cottonwoods  weaved  and 
whispered  in  the  little  winds  that  blew  always  from 
the  south  and  a  high-topped  palm  or  two  stood  like 
sentinels  to  guard  its  gates.  Where  Bluewater,  the 
great  sweet  spring  that  boiled  eternally  in  its  stone- 
flagged  patiOy  ran  out  beneath  the  trees,  there  pur- 
ple iris  grew  beside  the  trickle,  and  water  hya- 
cinth. 

Worn,  old-fashioned  chairs  and  benches  stood 
hospitably  on  the  clean-swept  earth  where  the  pop- 
lars made  their  shaking  shade,  and  hammocks,  gay 
with  fringe,  swung  in  the  little  breezes. 

1 


2  JVAL  OF  PARADISE 

And,  half  circling  this  enchanting  spot  upon  the 
left,  there  stood  the  ranch-house  itself. 

How  far  back  none  knew,  its  adobe  blocks  had 
been  set  one  upon  another  to  form  its  monstrous 
walls.  All  traces  of  their  distinction  had  been  long 
since  lost,  smoothed  and  blended  by  the  erosion  of 
the  elements. 

The  house  was  irregular,  full  of  great  rooms  and 
passage-ways  and  sudden  turnings,  of  mysterious 
and  unexpected  nooks  and  corners.  In  the  centre 
of  the  half -circle!  which  it  formed  around  the  spring 
and  the  cottonwoods,  two  great  doors  opened  in- 
ward, taking  the  stranger  abruptly  into  a  room  so 
huge — ^so  high,  so  wide,  so  deep — that  he  invariably 
caught  his  breath,  and  if  he  were  a  man  of  parts 
with  sensibilities,  he  stood  in  amaze  before  its 
beauties. 

Its  hard  earth  floor  was  covered  to  every  corner 
with  Indian  rugs  in  staring  black-and-white,  every 
one  of  which  in  its  beautiful  design,  its  size,  its 
thickness,  was  worth  a  pocket  full  of  gold.  On  its 
walls  yet  other  rugs  and  blankets  were  stretched 
between  the  long,  deep  rifts  that  answered  for  win- 
dows, but  these  were  bright  with  colour — flaming 
reds  and  golds  and  the  sharp  clear  contrast  of  the 
blacks  that  only  the  Indian  weavers  know  so  well 
how  to  use.  Here  and  there  among  these  striking 
panels  there  hung  a  picture  or  two — and  again  the 
stranger  stared,  for  one  was  the  Mona  Lisa  with 
her  ever  entrancing  smile,  and  one  was  Psyche  at 
Spring  in  the  exquisite  lights  and  tints  of  April, 


JOHN  HANNON'S  FIRMAMENT  3 

while  yet  one  other  was  that  undying  joy  to  those 
who  love  horseflesh,  Rosa  Bonheur's  Horse  Fair, 
full  four  feet  long. 

In  the  space  and  distances  of  this  great  room 
were  all  the  things  that  make  for  human  comfort 
and  content.  Tables  with  covers  of  wonderful 
hand-work  stood  here  and  there  with  books  upon 
them,  and  lamps,  while  worn  chairs  with  deep  cush- 
ions invited  everywhere. 

There  were  couches  against  the  walls,  and  in  one 
corner  where  the  light  fell  softly  from  the  west 
through  the  fine-leaved  vine  outside  the  window,  a 
piano,  so  old  that  its  once  milk-white  keys  were  yel- 
low as  an  old  dog's  tooth,  lifted  its  harp-shaped  top 
majestically  against  the  piece  of  ancient  tapestry 
that  draped  the  wall  behind.  A  narrow  bench,  en- 
tirely covered  with  minute  carvings,  black  with  age 
and  polished  by  the  wear  of  many  a  whispering 
gown,  stood  meekly  before  it,  as  if  glad  to  serve  in 
its  lowly  way  the  once  grand  instrument. 

Here  in  the  dusk  a  woman  came  sometimes,  feel- 
ing with  outstretched  hands  for  the  things  she 
could  not  see,  and  sliding  softly  on  the  ancient 
bench,  played  tinkling  tunes  of  a  long  past  day.  A 
sweet,  fair  woman  she  was,  frail  and  delicate  of  out- 
line and  demeanour,  with  patient  lines  in  her  clear 
face  and  with  the  light  of  a  splendid  soul  shining 
in  her  darkness. 

For  twenty  years  she  had  been  like  a  prisoner  in 
this  fortress,  but  guarded  by  so  many  loving  hearts, 
watched  by  so  many  keen  eyes,  served  by  so  many 


4  lVAl  of  paradise 

eager  hands,  that  she  was  in  reality  a  queen.  And 
here,  often,  when  she  played  her  nameless  tunes  a 
man  came  to  find  her,  to  sit  and  listen  and  to  watch 
her  face  with  such  a  heart-ache  on  his  features  that 
Tragedy  stalked  through  the  shadowed  room. 

This  was  John  Hannon,  the  boss  of  the  rancho^ 
the  greatest  one-man  power  in  the  country  of  the 
mesaSy  hated  by  his  far  neighbours  for  his  fences 
and  his  fields,  and  his  methods,  feared  by  his  ene- 
mies, and  a  shining  mark  for  that  sharp  gentry  of 
the  Border  whose  raids  and  crimes  were  a  load  on 
the  hearts  of  all  the  ranchers  within  striking  dis- 
tance of  the  line.  And  the  slim  blind  woman  was  his 
wife,  Belle,  the  only  woman-creature  he  had  ever 
loved  in  his  life  save  one,  and  whose  affliction  had 
darkened  the  windows  of  his  soul  with  bitter  re- 
bellion. 

Branching  from  this  central  room  a  labyrinth  of 
rooms  stretched  to  right  and  left,  the  dining-room 
toward  the  north,  flanked  by  the  kitchen  and  store- 
rooms, the  many  smaller  rooms  occupied  by  the 
Mexican  and  Indian  women  who  did  all  the  work 
of  the  big  house.  To  the  left  and  front  circled 
the  private  apartments  of  the  boss  and  his 
family. 

Out  behind,  toward  the  north,  there  lay  the  great 
barns  and  corrals,  the  sheds  and  stacks  and  pad- 
docks that  bespoke  huge  herds. 

John  Hannon's  land  stretched  for  many  a  mile, 
according  to  his  strength  to  hold  it,  and  cattle 
grazed  on  the  sweet  bunch  grass  as  far  as  the  eye 


JOHN  HANNON'S  FIRMAMENT  5 

could  see.  Four  living  springs  among  the  mesas, 
more  precious  than  gold  in  that  half  desert  land, 
were  his  by  right  of  long  possession  and  might  of 
protection.  His  cattle  drank  from  their  crystal 
flow  and  all  others  were  jealously  kept  away.  Not 
that  many  strays  found  their  way  so  far  across  his 
ranges,  for  neighbours  were  scattered  sparsely  in 
the  wide  country. 

Cowboys,  vaqueroSy  slept  in  the  long  bunk-house 
that  stood  to  the  right  of  the  ranch-house 
and  the  barns,  followed  the  rattling  chuck-wagons, 
rode  the  range  and  were  John  Hannon's  to  a  man, 
for  this  big,  heavy  ranchero  was  of  a  personality 
that  drew  men  to  him  strongly,  or  repelled  them  as 
strongly.  Those  who  came  to  work  for  him  and  felt 
the  latter  side  of  him,  soon  departed,  for  he  was 
keen  as  a  hawk  and  knew  his  own  immediately.  His 
hand  was  open  to  his  friends,  closed  and  heavy  to 
his  enemies.  To  that  which  opposed  him  he  was 
iron,  steel,  cold  and  hard  as  granite.  His  dark  eyes 
were  changeable,  soft  as  shadows  when  he  looked 
upon  his  wife,  keen  and  bright  as  flame  when  his 
swift  anger  was  aroused. 

And  that  was  not  so  rare  a  thing,  this  rousing  of 
his  wrath,  for  there  were  those  who  resented  his 
broad  fields  of  alfalfa  that  ran  toward  the  south, 
who  called  him  a  "  nester,"  that  title  of  oppro- 
brium— the  cattlemen,  who  looked  with  suspicion 
and  desire  upon  the  pride  of  John  Hannon's  heart, 
namely  the  wondrous  horses  that  ran  inside  his 
fences. 


6  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Ah!  Those  horses  1  How  shall  one  describe 
them? 

They  were  red  as  heart's  blood  and  every  whit  as 
vital.  In  every  shade,  from  the  pale  flame-red  of 
the  young  matched  racers,  Firebrand  and  The 
Flame,  with  their  cream-white  manes  and  tails, 
through  the  darker  blood-bay  tones  of  old  Hotfoot, 
their  mother,  of  Eedcloud,  of  Dawnlight  the  wild 
young  mare  with  her  evil  heart,  of  Lightning  the 
beautiful,  they  ranged  to  the  deep  and  splendid 
colour  of  Eedstar,  the  king. 

If  the  others  were  amazing  in  their  beauty  and 
perfection,  Eedstar  was  beyond  comparison.  And 
he  was  not  kin  to  the  Eed  Brood,  since  he  was  an 
alien,  brought  from  none  knew  what  distant  land 
save  John  Hannon  himself  who  had  ridden  him 
home  one  day  in  spring  some  four  years  back,  after 
a  long  and  silent  absence. 

But  though  there  were  Inany  red  horses  on  the 
bunch-grass  levels  then,  though  the  stranger  was 
worn  and  lean  with  long,  quick  travel,  though  dust 
and  sweat  were  caked  upon  him  and  his  eyes  were 
hollow  with  fatigue,  yet  from  that  first  moment  of 
his  appearance  in  the  wide  ranch  yard,  he  was  the 
king. 

Ah,  yes,  he  was  the  king.  And  he  had  always 
been ;  for  beside  his  regal  beauty,  the  heart  of  a  king 
beat  in  his  broad  breast,  a  kingly  spirit  looked  out 
of  his  deep,  intelligent  eyes,  and  the  speed  of  noth- 
ing less  than  an  equine  king  was  in  his  long  straight 
legs. 


JOHN  HANNON'S  FIRMAMENT  7 

The  boss  had  swung  stiffly  from  him  that  spring 
twilight  and  laid  upon  his  neck  a  hand  that  was 
eloquent  of  pride. 

''  Give  him  th'  best  th'  ranch's  got,"  he  said  to 
Briston  the  foreman,  "  now  an'  always." 

"Where  on  earth  d'you  get  him?"  asked  thQ 
other  wonderingly,  but  the  rancher  turned  wearily 
away  toward  the  comfort  of  his  house. 

^'  So  fur  from  here  that  you  wouldn't  know, 
Tom,"  he  said,  "  and,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought, 
"  his  price  has  left  me  nearly  busted." 

So  Redstar  came  to  Paradise,  and  it  was  Paradise 
to  him  in  all  truth,  for  he  had  the  run  of  all  the 
fresh  green  fields,  the  open  stretches  where  the 
bunch  grass  grew  when  the  riders  were  about,  a 
private  paddock  all  his  own,  and  none  but  the  mas- 
ter ever  backed  him,  until — until  Val  Hannon  grew 
up  sufficiently  to  look  her  daddy  in  the  eye  with 
her  two  velvet  orbs  and  demand  the  king  to  ride. 

And  Val  Hannon  ranked  above  the  horses  if  such 
a  thing  were  possible — perhaps  because  her  mother 
loved  her  with  an  idolatry  that  lit  up  her  darkness. 
If  Belle  Hannon  had  loved  an  Apache  Indian  he 
would  have  been  precious  to  her  husband  for  that 
reason. 

But  there  was  reason  in  plenty  for  the  boss  to 
rank  his  daughter  first,  all  the  reason  a  man  might 
heed  wrapped  in  the  slim  young  form  of  her,  for  if 
the  Red  Brood  strained  comparison,  Val  Hannon 
beggared  it. 

When  she  came  in  from  the  open  levels  and  tossed 


B  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

her  hat  toward  the  nearest  corner,  her  kerchief 
after  it,  she  was  a  sight  to  dwarf  the  beauty  of  all 
Paradise  and  its  possessions,  for  she  was  beauty 
incarnate,  the  heart  and  soul  and  pulse  of  it.  She 
was  tall  and  strong  and  slender,  straight  as  a  lance 
in  rest  and  pliant  as  a  willow.  Her  face  was  oval, 
with  a  well-set  chin  above  her  pretty  throat,  and 
the  sunsets  of  the  mesas  shone  through  her  soft 
dark  skin.  Her  hair  was  black  and  running  with 
loose  waves,  like  a  gentle  sea  in  the  sun,  and  her 
eyes  were  like  her  father's,  dark  and  swiftly  change- 
able. They  were  long  eyes,  slumbrous  at  times  and 
full  of  tenderness  for  every  living  creature,  but  they 
could  widen  and  flash  upon  occasion. 

She  was  born  to  the  open  as  the  winds  to  the 
levels,  the  white  clouds  to  the  sky.  Hour  by  hour 
she  rode  in  the  great  spaces  of  the  plains,  drowsed 
beneath  the  shadow  of  some  weathered  shaft  of  the 
red  stone  of  the  region,  and  dreamed  the  dreams  of 
girlhood. 

And  Val  on  Eedstar  was  the  prize,  the  crown  of 
Paradise,  the  imperial  sovereign  before  whom  the 
whole  ranch  bowed  in  adoration — but  the  sweetest, 
kindest,  simplest  ruler  that  ever  sat  a  throne. 


CHAPTER  II 

HIGH  PLAY 

ON  a  warm  sweet  day  in  early  summer  the 
town  of  Santa  Leandra  drowsed  beneath  its 
trees,  half  asleep  and  utterly  at  peace. 

Hardly  a  breath  of  breeze  stirred  the  huge  elms 
and  the  cottonwoods  which  shaded  its  one  street 
and  the  crooked,  pretty  lanes  and  byways  that  held 
its  ancient  houses.  Adobe  for  the  most  part,  these 
old  structures  might  hold  a  thousand  secrets  with 
their  nameless  passage-ways,  their  dusky  rooms, 
their  seclusion. 

A  stream  of  living  water,  known  for  three  hun- 
dred miles  each  way,  trickled  sluggishly  beside  the 
straggling  street,  and  to  the  south  and  west 
stretched  out  the  country  of  the  mesas.  To  the  east 
and  north,  flanking  all  the  land  indeed,  there  rose 
and  circled  the  illimitable  mystery  of  the  Blind 
Trail  Hills. 

Gardens  flourished  and  flowers  grew  in  profu- 
sion, and  children  shouted  and  played  in  the  shady 
ways. 

Santa  Leandra  was  an  ancient  dame  among 
towns.  Three  generations  back  she  had  sent  out 
her  wagons  with  their  freight  of  gold,  brought  them 
back  laden  with  supplies  for  the  two  stores.  Today 
the  wagons  still  creaked  over  the  many  miles  of 

9 


10  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

bunch-grass  plain  that  lay  between  her  and  the 
railroad — the  railroad  that  would  never  come 
nearer — and  they  still  carried  a  slender  freight  of 
gold,  still  brought  back  supplies.  For  Santa  Lean- 
dra,  though  seemingly  of  the  past,  was  very  much 
of  the  present. 

On  this  particular  day  the  life  of  the  one  street 
was  gathered  at  the  rack  before  Hunnewell's  store 
where  a  bunch  of  horses  were  tied.  They  were  good 
horses,  all — lean,  hard-ridden  chaps,  but  in  the  pink 
of  fitness,  and  most  of  them  belonged  in  the  place. 
The  men  who  lived  in  this  wild  land  were  more  than 
half  horse,  and  wherever  one  was,  there  would  his 
mount  be  also. 

For  a  game  was  running  at  HunnewelFs  and  had 
run  since  the  night  before.  One  of  those  horses  at 
the  rack  belonged  to  Brideman  who  rode  alone,  and 
when  he  struck  town  there  was  always  play  worth 
while  at  Hunnewell's.  Brideman  carried  gold 
always,  and  though  that  was  no  rare  thing,  it  was 
forever  worth  the  taking. 

But  it  took  a  good  one  to  take  it  from  Brideman 
^in  all  truth — usually  Corey  who  lived  in  the  big 
stone  house  at  the  north  end  of  the  street,  or  San- 
chez who  came  in  from  the  outskirts. 

Both  of  these  were  at  the  table  now,  along  with 
Tait  and  Hunnewell  himself  and  several  cowboys 
in  chaps  and  sombreros,  with  their  six-shooters 
hanging  low  at  their  lean  hips.  For  that  matter 
every  man  in  the  place  carried  a  gun,  after  the  cus- 
tom of  the  region.    Tait,  there,  was  known  in  a 


HIGH  PLAY  11 

modest  way  for  his  clever  trigger  finger,  and  Corey 
had  killed  more  than  one  man  in  the  long  life  that 
had  silvered  his  thick  hair  and  given  him  the 
saintly  look  of  a  Daniel.  But  Corey  could  play,  and 
it  was  worth  a  man's  time  to  watch  his  benignant 
face  when  he  held  three  aces  and  a  pair  of  queens 
and  never  a  shadow  flecked  across  it.  Also  it  was 
of  the  same  mild  impassiveness  when  he  bluffed  out 
the  pot  on  deuces.  But  Brideman,  big,  bearded, 
blond  and  full  of  laughter,  was  in  high  fettle  this 
day  and  was  cleaning  up  on  all  of  them.  He  had 
played  for  sixteen  hours  straight  on  end  and  was 
fresh  as  at  the  beginning,  keen  as  a  racer.  His  blue 
eyes,  set  under  their  beetling  brows,  were  sparkling 
like  harbour  lights,  and  he  struck  the  dirty,  canvas- 
covered  table  with  a  mighty  fist  from  time  to  time 
as  he  raked  in  the  gold  before  him. 

At  Hunneweirs  store  the  bar,  as  being  of  first 
im^port,  came  first  on  the  left  as  one  entered  the 
place.  Beyond  there  ran  the  counter  over  which 
the  wives  of  Santa  Leandra  bought  their  flour  and 
sugar,  their  calico  and  ginghams  by  the  yard.  To 
the  right  there  stood  several  tables  like  the  one  at 
which  the  men  were  playing,  for  sometimes  the 
town  was  packed  full  of  strange  horses  and  grati- 
fying crowds  played  at  Hunnewell's. 

Today,  as  the  men  steadily  lost  to  Brideman,  a 
shadow  darkened  the  door  and  a  girl  stood  there. 
She  leaned  gracefully  against  the  lintel  and  smiled, 
her  little  head  tilted  sidewise  like  a  bird's,  her  black 
eyes  roving  over  every  face  there  with  a  bold  bright 


12  YAL  OF  PARADISE 

glance.  She  was  clad  in  gay  garments  of  scarlet 
and  black,  with  a  sash  of  striped  silk  that  hung  to 
her  knee  at  the  left,  after  it  had  most  saucily  bound 
her  slender  waist  in  a  wide,  tight  girdle.  These 
were  her  best  clothes,  daringly  donned  because 
there  were  strange  men  in  town,  and  she  went 
boldly  to  the  store  for  a  bagatelle  of  some  sort  or 
other. 

At  the  sound  of  her  light  foot  at  the  sill  the  play- 
ers looked  up — Brideman  with  a  leer  and  a  laugh 
and  a  pointed  compliment,  the  cowboys  with  that 
lively  interest  which  all  their  ilk  feel  in  women- 
kind,  but  Paul  Sanchez  with  a  black  scowl,  for  she 
was  his  daughter. 

"  Lolo,"  he  said  sharply,  "  go  home — pronto/^ 

But  she  only  leaned  more  comfortably  against 
the  doorpost  and  smiled  at  the  men. 

"Lolo  likes  company,"  said  Brideman,  boister- 
ously, "and  why  shouldn't  she,  shut  in  this  for- 
saken town?  Tell  me  that.  Come  watch  us  play, 
little  one,"  he  added,  turning  his  great  face  toward 
the  door. 

But  Sanchez  was  on  his  feet,  his  dark  face  flam- 
ing. He  lifted  an  imperious  finger  and  pointed 
north,  and  the  girl,  with  a  last  sidewise  glance  and 
a  pout,  slipped  gracefully  off  the  step  and  disap- 
peared. 

Sanchez  sat  down  again,  picked  up  his  cards  and 
called  for  a  draw  coolly,  but  there  was  fire  in  his 
black  eyes.  That  invitation  of  the  big  man  to  the 
girl  to  "  come  and  watch  the  play  "  given  directly 


HIGH  PLAY  13 

against  his  command  had  roused  him  to  the  depths. 
Like  all  his  race  the  Mexican  was  of  quick  angers 
and  resentments. 

And  now,  as  if  he  lost  command  of  his  usually 
sane  judgment,  he  lost  the  last  of  his  gold  and  rose 
with  a  bow,  his  cards  thrown  on  the  table. 

"  Your  pleasure,  gentlemen,''  he  said.  "  Drink 
with  me,  if  Hunnewell  will  trust  me." 

Hunnewell  behind  his  worn  old  bar  trusted  any- 
one. Moreover  he  knew  that  Sanchez  was  only 
temporarily  broke.  So  the  players  left  the  table 
with  much  noise  of  scraping  chairs  and  jingling 
spurs  and  lined  up  for  the  fiery  refreshment  which 
would  have  floored  a  stranger. 

And  Lolo,  swinging  down  the  little  street  beneath 
the  elms  and  cottonwoods,  her  slim  brown  hands  on 
her  narrow  hips,  her  black  head  high  with  offended 
dignity,  stopped  short  to  stare  with  wide  eyes  to 
where  the  open  road  led  in  from  the  sage-brush 
plain. 

A  great  dust  was  on  the  level,  for  many  horses 
ran  there,  fleet  horses,  she  knew,  for  they  poked 
their  dark  noses  ahead  of  the  dust,  even  though  the 
wind,  blowing  with  a  keen  freshness,  was  behind 
them.  The  girl  lifted  her  hands  instinctively  and  set 
the  bunch  of  scarlet  flowers  more  jauntily  behind 
her  little  ear,  smoothed  the  black  hair  that  lay  like 
shining  satin  above  her  beautiful  brow.  Lolo  San- 
chez was  lovely  to  look  upon  and  knew  it  perfectly. 

More  men  were  coming  into  Santa  Leandra — 
more  excitement,  more  play  at  HunnewelFs,  more 


U  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

drinking,  and,  incidentally,  more  masculine  eyes  to 
behold  her  in  her  finery. 

^'  Little  hussy/'  called  a  woman  from  a  doorway, 
her  brood  of  babies  at  her  skirts,  "stand  an^ 
watch !    Bold — bold — an'  don't  care  a  rap !  " 

Lolo  whirled  upon  her  like  a  fury,  black  eyes  sud- 
denly flaming. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  Marta  Winne,"  she  said, 
"  if  I  had  your  hair  and  teeth  I'd  hide  behind  mod- 
esty, too." 

The  woman,  flushing,  flung  indoors  and  drew  her 
flock  after.  The  shot  had  gone  home  truly,  for  the 
wisp  of  hair  wound  to  a  tight  knob  the  size  of  an 
egg  on  her  round  pate  was  pale  straw  colour,  and 
she  was  painfully  snaggle-toothed. 

Lolo  turned  back  to  watch  the  oncoming  cloud  of 
dust  with  its  potentialities.  It  came  with  an  in- 
creasing sound  of  thunder,  with  the  rattle  and 
creak  of  chain  and  saddle,  and  presently  a  band  of 
men  rode  into  the  end  of  the  sleepy  street  and 
pounded  down  its  length  toward  Hunnewell's. 

They  were  lean  brown  chap^  to  a  man,  they  rode 
like  centaurs,  and  every  man-jack  of  them  carried 
two  guns  swinging  at  his  hips.  Their  garments 
were  good  and  showed  a  certain  vanity  of  adorn- 
ment, such  as  an  ostentation  of  spotted  belts  and 
riding  cuffs.  But  the  thing  about  them  that  took 
the  eye  of  every  beholder  in  that  land  was  their 
horses. 

Grand  horses  they  were,  wild,  ramping,  mettle- 
some creatures  all  big,  all  hard  as  nails  from  long 


HIGH  PLAY  15 

and  strenuous  use,  and  the  one  that  raced  ahead 
was  more  beautiful  than  all  of  them. 

And  if  the  horse  shone  up  in  sharp  contrast 
among  those  behind  him,  not  less  did  his  rider  also. 

This  was  a  young  man,  not  over  seven  and 
twenty,  tall,  lean  as  a  hound,  the  broad  shoulders 
beneath  his  flannel  shirt  slipping  with  muscle,  the 
long  hands  on  his  pommel  slender  as  a  woman's 
and  as  fine-grained,  his  handsome  blue  eyes  in  odd 
contrast  to  the  darkness  of  his  hair  and  the  smooth 
dark  tan  of  his  cheeks. 

There  were  bad  faces  in  that  bunch  behind  him, 
hard  faces  and  sinister  ones,  but  this  man's  face 
was  the  epitome  of  joyous  recklessness.  As  he  thun- 
dered down  the  street  of  Santa  Leandra  with  his 
men  behind  him,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  rode  bare- 
headed and  smiling,  his  keen  eyes  seeing  every- 
thing in  sight,  even  the  half -hidden  old  door  be- 
neath a  lattice,  the  hound  pup  that  scratched  fran- 
tically to  get  under  a  sill,  and  the  fact  that  every 
house  had  huge,  crude  locks,  as  if  the  inmates 
trusted  neither  neighbour  nor  friend.  Neither  did 
he  fail  to  see  the  girl,  standing  wide-eyed  in  her  fin- 
ery beside  the  way  as  he  pounded  down  to  stop  with 
a  rattle  and  slide  before  the  rack  at  HunnewelPs. 

"  Too  many  horses,  boys,"  he  said  in  a  voice  as 
rich  as  a  harp,  "  tie  over  there,"  and  he  drew  his 
mount  aside.  This  horse  was  not  like  the  rest. 
Every  line  in  him  bespoke  an  alien  breed,  a  better 
blood.  It  looked  out  of  his  quick,  intelligent  eyes, 
stood  forth  in  the  delicacy  of  his  nostrils,  the  small- 


16  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

ness  of  his  sharp  ears,  the  height  and  shape  of  his 
withers,  the  length  and  strength  of  his  slim  legs. 

The  man  tied  him  securely,  but  with  a  sliding 
knot  whose  loose  end,  responsive  to  a  jerk,  would 
loose  the  whole.  As  the  master  turned  to  leave,  the 
beautiful  creature,  drawing  a  long  breath,  leaned 
affectionately  toward  him  and  rubbed  its  cheek 
against  his  arm. 

The  group  of  newcomers,  falling  in  close  together 
as  if  from  habit,  crossed  the  street  to  the  store, 
mounted  the  steps  with  a  clatter  of  spurs  and  en- 
tered. The  leader  stood  first  inside  the  door  and 
looked  around  with  the  sparkling  smile  that  lighted 
his  face  as  with  an  inner  flame.  The  men  at  the 
table  looked  up,  and  though  they  knew  perfectly 
well,  had  known  for  ten  minutes,  of  their  arrival, 
they  showed  no  surprise.  Every  face  there  was 
placid,  shallow  with  an  alert  indifiPerence.  Bride- 
man  alone  looked  keenly  over  the  crowd  with  an 
appraising  glance. 

"  Hello,  boys,"  said  the  tall  young  chap,  setting 
the  broad  black  hat  back  upon  his  head  at  an  angle, 
"  room  for  some  more?  '' 

^^  Always  room  for  more,"  said  the  genial  Hunne- 
well,  "  what'U  you  have?  " 

^^  Molten  hell  for  these,"  said  the  other  airily 
with  a  wave  of  his  slim  hand  toward  those  behind 
him,  "  water  for  me.  Gentlemen,"  he  included  the 
players  at  the  table,  who  began  to  rise  at  the  time- 
honoured  invitation. 

"  Wh^ — what  did  you  say,  stranger?  "  asked  Hun- 


HIGH  PLAY  17 

newell,  a  grin  beginning  to  spread  on  his  florid 
face. 

But  the  young  man  turned  and  looked  at  him, 
and  all  the  smile,  all  the  sparkle,  was  gone  sud- 
denly from  his  face. 

"I  said  ^ water',  Hunnewell,"  he  said  evenly, 
"  just  plain,  cold,  ordinary  water.  Suits  my  par- 
ticular type  of  beauty  better.  Keeps  my  complec- 
tion  smooth." 

"  Sure,''  said  Hunnewell  gracefully  and  gravely, 
'^  I  agree  with  you.  Ain't  nothin'  better,"  and  he 
deftly  served  up  the  drinks  and  lazily  wiped  the 
worn  old  bar  where  a  thousand  passing  elbows  had 
left  their  mark  in  polish. 

"  Play?  "  asked  Hunnewell. 

"  If  we  may." 

There  was  a  smoothness  of  tongue,  a  precision  of 
speech  about  this  dusty  rider  of  the  bunch  grass, 
that  struck  the  listeners  and  though  they  could  not 
have  defined  it,  it  set  the  man  somewhat  apart.  He 
seemed  different  from  all  in  that  big  bare  room 
when  he  drew  up  and  sat  in  the  game  which  their 
coming  had  disrupted. 

Hunnewell  bustled  about  and  drew  forth  a  sec- 
ond table,  round,  of  goodly  size,  canvas  covered,  a 
third  to  match  it,  and  soon  there  was  the  slap  of 
cards,  the  occasional  word,  the  sound  of  silver,  the 
dull  clink  of  soft  raw  gold  to  break  the  silence  of 
the  game. 

Sanchez,  out  of  it,  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  smok- 
ing and  watching  as  if  he  had  not  but  now  lost  the 


18  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

last  motley  bag  of  dust,  dollars  and  pesos  he  pos- 
sessed in  the  world.  A  game  was  a  game  and  he 
was  a  born  gambler,  feeling  its  lure  vicariously. 

At  the  table  where  Brideman  played  the  stranger 
had  taken  seat  naturally,  as  if  one  strong  force 
drew  another.  As  the  cut  for  deal  went  round  these 
two  men  looked  at  each  other  and  a  keen  observer 
would  have  sensed  a  measuring,  an  appraising,  as 
if  each  tested  the  other's  mettle.  Corey  had  joined 
the  second  table  and  Hunnewell  the  third,  while 
the  rest  of  the  original  players  were  about  evenly 
distributed. 

The  day  was  still  young,  and  interest  leaped  up 
anew  in  their  faces.  Some  of  these  had  dropped 
out,  slept  an  hour  or  two  and  come  back  to  face 
Brideman  again,  but  Brideman  had  not  slept.  Now 
his  blue  eyes  under  their  shaggy  brows  shone  with 
a  keener  brilliance.  He  sensed  something  more  to 
his  liking,  a  worthier  foe  than  these  whom  he  knew 
so  well.  The  piles  of  silver  coins  and  gold  dust 
before  him  were  insulting  in  their  size,  a  plain 
statement  of  inferior  conflict,  though  neither  Tait 
nor  Corey  nor  Sanchez  need  take  a  back  seat  any- 
where on  that  Border. 

Brideman  was  rich  for  the  day.  Whether  or  not 
he  would  be  tomorrow  was  another  matter.  How- 
ever, he  had  but  to  ride  away  into  the  distances 
which  swallowed  and  disgorged  him  at  fitful  times, 
to  come  back  again  laden  to  his  ears  with  gold. 

And  many  odd  things  this  man  had  put  up  at 
times  when  luck  went  against  him — once  a  wonder- 


HIGH  PLAY  19 

f  ul  ring  of  heavy  carven  gold  which,  upon  pressure, 
shot  forth  a  minute  blade. 

Brideman  had  said  the  steel  was  poisoned  and 
the  gamblers  had  laughed.  Whereupon  he  had 
leaned  suddenly  and  touched  the  cat  stretched 
among  the  barrels  in  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  for  it 
was  winter  time.  The  thing  was  effective,  for  the 
creature  died  promptly  and  with  scarce  a  quiver. 

Sanchez  had  won  the  ring,  but  Brideman  had 
forced  him  to  continue  the  play  for  twenty  hours, 
until  he  won  it  back. 

Again,  he  had  staked  the  beautiful  ivory  hand  of 
a  sacred  statue,  got  from  none  knew  what  sacked 
Mission  of  the  Border,  silent  sign  of  the  man's  de- 
pravity. Sanchez  had  won  that,  too,  and,  play  as 
he  would,  Brideman  had  never  been  able  to  win  it 
back. 

So  now  today  he  measured  his  new  ground  and 
gathered  the  motley  wealth  before  him  into  com- 
pact piles. 

But  HunnewelPs  was  due  that  day  to  see  such 
high  play  as  it  had  not  seen  for  years,  and  it  was 
due  to  see  the  breaking  of  Brideman,  a  thing  which 
it  had  never  seen. 

For  it  was  not  long  before  every  man  at  the  table 
— and  at  the  one  adjoining,  through  subtle  glances 
and  keenly  cocked  ears — knew  that  Brideman  had 
met  his  match,  his  real  match,  not  a  spurting  victor 
who  won  and  lost  again,  such  as  Corey  and  San- 
chez, but  a  man  who  played  to  him  steadily  and  be- 
gan to  win. 


20  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

At  first  it  was  with  huge  delight  and  mounting 
merriment  that  he  shoved  over  this  and  that  small 
heap  of  gold  and  silver.  He  roared  in  his  great 
voice  and  struck  the  table  with  his  hairy  fists  and 
constantly  delayed  the  game  to  call  for  drinks, 
which  Hunnewell  must  stop  to  serve. 

"Playin'  to  Brideman!  By  jinks!  A  kid  like 
you ! "  he  said,  "  an'  winnin' !  Ain't  it  amazin' ! 
Come  on,  young-un.  I  played  when  you  was  on 
your  mammy's  lap — come  agin !  "  and  he  shook  his 
leonine  head  and  refused  to  draw,  holding  his  hand 
cupped  in  his  broad  palm  and  grinning  across  at 
the  stranger. 

"  Old  methods,  Brideman,"  said  the  other,  smil- 
ing, ^*  we  young  ones  sometimes  teach  you  old  dogs 
new  tricks.    I  raise  you." 

"  Darn ! "  said  Brideman,  who  was  notoriously 
mild  in  his  speech  among  a  hard-swearing  gentry, 
as  he  lost  again. 

So  the  day  drifted  by  with  sweet  winds  in  from 
the  plain  and  a  high  sun  that  sailed  in  a  cloudless 
sky,  and  the  stacks  of  coin  before  Brideman  dwin- 
dled, to  grow  at  the  stranger's  elbow. 

"  Maybe  you're  tired,"  said  the  young  man  once, 
halting  a  moment,  "  would  you  like  to  rest  and  be- 
gin again  later?  " 

"  Quit?  Brideman  a  quitter?  Deal  them  cards!  ^^ 

And  for  once  the  laughter  had  subsided  in  the 
giant's  throat.  His  sparkling  blue  eyes  were  still 
bright,  but  red  rims  had  come  about  them  as  he 
was  showing  his  liquor  and  his  strain. 


HIGH  PLAY  21 

The  play  at  the  other  tables  had  dwindled  as  in- 
terest grew  in  the  big  game,  and  finally  ceased  alto- 
gether as  the  men  rose  and  stood  round  in  a  circle, 
watching  this  cool  blue-eyed  stranger  pare  Bride- 
man  down  with  steady  persistency. 

Sanchez  and  Corey  and  Tait  leaned  near  in 
breathless  intensity  and  from  time  to  time  some  one 
drew  a  long  breath,  for  none  among  them  had  ever 
seen  the  bully  beaten  down  to  his  limit  so,  seen 
him  recognize  a  master  hand  as  he  plainly  did  now 
by  the  grimness  of  his  face,  the  lack  of  his  eternal 
laughter.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  known 
him  to  play  in  silence. 

At  one  o'clock  Brideman  pushed  over  with  a 
wavering  hand  the  last  motley  heap  of  gold  before 
him  and  called  for  two  cards.  He  had  scarcely 
moved  from  his  chair  for  twenty-two  hours.  This 
was  the  last  deal  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  the 
run  of  luck  could  or  would  change,  and  those  in  the 
circle  drew  in  closer.  So  interested  were  they  that 
none  had  seen  Lolo  Sanchez  as  she  stood  for  a  long 
time  in  the  door,  watching  the  face  of  the  man  oppo- 
site Brideman,  whose  back  was  toward  her. 

The  girl  was  a  flower,  a  light  in  the  shadow,  a 
laugh  in  the  windy  sun,  enough  to  make  a  man  for- 
get mafay  things — had  made  more  than  one  forget 
the  things  he  should  have  remembered.  But  she 
was  a  wanton,  a  thief  of  love  and  a  little  pirate, 
taking  all  and  giving  little — a  laugh,  a  kiss,  a  prom- 
ise, and  gone  like  thistle  floss  upon  the  wind.  Many 
had  tried  to  hold  her  and  failed. 


22  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Her  father  watched  her  with  deep  anger  and  con- 
sidered her  a  danger  and  a  liability. 

But  Lolo  was  brave,  whatever  else  she  was,  and 
played  her  tricks  under  his  eyes  without  fear. 
Now,  as  she  watched  the  lean,  dark  face  of  the 
stranger  with  its  big  blue  eyes  her  own  were  deep 
and  wide  with  a  new  expression — a  look  of  won- 
der, of  newness,  of  keen  intensity. 

She  scanned  its  every  feature,  the  tumbled  dark 
hair  above  the  white  brow  where  the  sweatband  left 
its  mark,  the  straight  nose,  the  heavy  eyebrows  and 
lashes  that  so  strangely  shadowed  the  light  of  the 
eyes,  the  handsome  mouth  with  the  dimples  at  the 
up-turned  corners.  She  brazenly  looked  over  the 
lean,  strong  figure  from  the  broad  shoulders  down 
to  the  slender  waist,  and  found  the  man  good  in  all 
the  slim  glory  of  his  youth  and  his  prime. 

And  as  this  man  called  Brideman  for  the  last 
time  and  it  came  to  the  show-down,  while  the  giant 
threw  his  cards  upon  the  cloth  with  a  muttered 
oath  and  made  as  if  to  push  back  from  the  table, 
the  girl  pushed  hurriedly  through  the  crowding 
men  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Broke,  Brideman?  "  she  asked  softly. 

Brideman  looked  up  with  his  red-rimmed  eyes 
that  were  full  of  rage. 

"  What's  it  to  you?  "  he  asked  brutally. 

"Nothing,'^  said  Lolo,  smiling,  "only— if  you 
want  another  try  you  can  have  it." 

"Yes?''  he  sneered,  "what'll  I  stake?  I'm 
cleaned." 


HIGH  PLAY  23 

And  he  made  to  rise,  stiffly,  waveringly,  tired 
suddenly  to  the  point  of  breaking. 

But  Lolo  pushed  him  down  with  her  little  hand. 

"  Stake  me,"  she  said,  "  I  give  you  leave.'' 

Brideman  stared  for  a  moment  in  dull  amaze. 

Then  his  great  laugh  boomed  in  the  room  once 
more,  the  sparkle  came  swiftly  back  to  his  blue  eyes. 

"  Done !  "  he  cried,  "  come  on,  young-un,  if  you're 
a  stayer !  I  stake  Lolo,  th'  Rose  o'  Santa  Leandra, 
against  your  whole  pile!  " 

And  he  waved  a  steadied  hand  grandiloquently 
toward  the  stacks  of  gold  and  silver. 

For  the  first  time  the  stranger  raised  his  eyes 
and  looked  at  the  girl,  but  she  did  not  meet  his 
gaze. 

Sanchez  forged  forward  and  caught  his  daughter 
roughly  by  the  shoulder,  but  she  put  her  hands  on 
her  slim  hips  and  shook  him  off  disdainfully. 

^^  I'm  nineteen,"  she  said,  "  go  on,  Brideman." 

Sanchez  flung  up  his  hand,  snapped  his  fingers. 
His  brown  face  was  ashen  grey. 

"  Damn !  "  he  said  savagely,  "  you  hussy !  Yes, 
go  on,  Brideman,  and  I  hope  to  God  you  lose  her!  " 

For  a  second  or  so  the  stranger  hesitated, 
scanned  the  faces  of  the  principals  in  the  little  play. 
Then  he  smiled,  picked  up  the  cards,  deftly  shook 
them  together  and  shoved  them  over. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  "  and  you  may  have  the 
deal  in  the  bargain.    One  hand  to  draw." 

Brideman,  steady  as  a  rock,  dealt,  laid  down  the 
pack  and  picked  up  his  hand. 


24  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

He  discarded  two,  picked  up  the  pack  again  and 
looked  at  the  other.  The  young  man  threw  down 
four  cards  and  smiled. 

The  girl  by  the  table  flushed  like  a  sunset.  A 
slight  chance  he  took  to  win  her,  in  all  truth ! 

In  silence  Brideman  dealt  him  four  cards,  took 
his  own  two,  and  in  silence  they  both  spread  down 
their  hands,  face  up. 

Brideman  held  two  queens  and  a  jack,  a  five  and 
a  trey. 

The  stranger  held  four  kings  straight,  and  a  nine 
spot — the  card  he  had  held  from  his  discard.  Lolo, 
watching,  saw  this  card  turn  up  and  the  flush  deep- 
ened in  her  dark  cheeks. 

With  an  oath  Brideman  bungled  up  from  the 
table. 

"DeviFs  luck!"  he  said  hoarsely,  "but  you're 
sold,  Lolo,  body  an'  soul !  " — with  which  word  and  a 
mocking  laugh  he  lurched  to  the  bar. 

And  Lolo,  looking  up  with  her  wide  black  eyes 
and  her  pomegranate  lips  parted  like  moist  rose- 
buds, smiled  at  her  master  like  a  siren. 

The  man  looked  down  at  he^  and  the  smile  died 
on  his  own  face.  For  a  long  moment  he  regarded 
her,  gravely. 

Then  he  stepped  to  her  side  and  took  her 
hand. 

"  Little,  bold,  pretty  thing,"  he  said,  "  don't  do 
these  tricks  any  more.    Here,  hold  your  sash." 

And  he  caught  the  broad  end  of  the  striped  van- 
ity that  swung  at  her  knee,  spread  it,  gathered  its 


HIGH  PLAY  25 

end  tight,  closed  her  hands  about  the  knot,  and, 
turning  to  the  table,  swept  into  the  sack  thus 
formed  the  load  of  gold  and  silver  thereupon. 

Then  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  lightly  upon  the 
rosebud  of  her  mouth. 

"  Go  home  with  your  dad,"  he  said,  ''  and  be  a 
good  girl." 

Then  he  gathered  his  men  with  his  quick  glance, 
walked  to  the  door  and  out  into  the  afternoon  sun- 
shine. 

In  ten  seconds  the  whole  bunch  after  dashing, 
rattling,  and  scrambling  among  the  horses,  had 
mounted  and  turned  and  were  making  out  of  town 
toward  the  south  with  the  great  red  horse  five 
jumps  ahead,  his  satin  hide  shining,  his  huge  neck 
bowed,  the  cloud  of  his  black  mane  like  smoke  above 
him  and  his  long  tail  a  fan  behind. 

Every  man  at  Hunnewell's  but  one  crowded  out 
upon  the  porch  to  watch  their  going. 

^^  Boys,"  said  Hunnewell,  solemnly,  "  do  you 
know  who  that  was?  " 

''  No,"  came  the  answer  promptly,  from  several, 
^'  but  we  got  a  good  guess." 

^^  Right,  I  take  it,"  said  Hunnewell,  "That's 
Velantrie  from  th'  Border,  and  his  band  o'  ban- 
dits— Don  Keeota  Velantrie,  they  call  him,  south, 
though  why — for  that  name,  I  don't  know,  an'  he's 
th'  smoothest  lad  in  th'  world,  they  say.  I  saw  him 
once  before,  in  a  little  town  over  th'  line,  an'  he 
remembered  me.  They  say  he  knows  a  lot  that 
some  folks  don't — ^your  name,  too,  Brideman." 


26  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

But  Brideman  lay  across  the  table  inside,  dead 
asleep. 

"  Velantrie!  "  whispered  Lolo  Sanchez,  her  small 
body  bending  gracefully  under  her  weight  of 
wealth,  her  soft  mouth  moist  with  that  careless 
kiss,  ^'  Velantrie  of  the  Border !  Santa  Maria — ^it 
was  high  play  today !  ^^ 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FRIENDS  OP  PARADISE 

THE  summer  was  glorious  upon  the  land.  The 
sun  was  high  in  a  cloudless  sky  and  a  little 
wind  came  eternally  in  from  the  bunch- 
grass  levels.  The  scattered  mesas  stood  majesti- 
cally in  the  blue  haze,  tawny  and  imposing.  Here 
and  there  a  weathered  finger  of  stone  cut  up  against 
the  sky  stark  as  a  skeleton. 

Under  the  light  the  wide  alfalfa  fields,  of  which 
John  Hannon  was  inordinately  proud  and  which 
the  ranchmen  hated,  lay  like  spread  emerald  to- 
ward the  south.  Scattered  against  this  vivid 
green  the  Red  Brood  grazed  in  opulent  plenty. 

Redcloud  the  big  and  savage  stallion,  Hotfoot, 
old  but  built  like  a  racer  and  with  the  look  of  a 
colt,  Dawnlight  the  evil  one.  Firebrand  and  The 
Flame,  they  were  a  sight  for  gods  and  men  in  their 
perfection.  They  ate  of  the  sweet  forage  with 
daintiness,  raised  their  beautiful  heads  from  time 
to  time  to  look  over  their  world,  and  called  their 
shrill  challenges  to  all  and  sundry  beneath  the 
high  blue  sky. 

Only  Redstar  across  the  fence  in  a  separate  field 
grazed  in  quietness,  unmindful  of  the  ramping 
creatures  that  came  and  raced  along  the  fence  with 
lifted  tails  and  snorting  nostrils. 

27 


28  VAL  OB^  PARADISE 

He  had  no  need  of  bluster,  of  wildness. 

Little  he  cared  for  the  Eed  Brood's  challenge. 

He  was  the  king  and  his  behaviour  was  fitting  his 
royalty. 

The  hatred  of  one  stallion  for  another  was  in 
Redcloud's  scream  of  anger  when  he  passed,  but  he 
had  never  been  known  to  answer  it.  It  was  as  if  he 
felt  a  mighty  contempt  for  the  wild  red  horse,  a  bit 
smaller  than  himself,  not  so  dark  in  colour,  heavier 
and  of  less  speed. 

"Redcloud  hates  th'  king,''  said  John  Hannon, 
smiling,  "but  Redstar  don't  know  he's  on  earth. 
It's  th'  heart  o'  th'  thoroughbred  in  him,  th'  instinc- 
tive knowledge  that  they  ain't  rivals — can't  be  no- 
how." 

But  Lightning,  the  beautiful  gelding,  slim, 
graceful,  tall  and  swift,  gentler  than  all  the  rest, 
was  of  a  nearer  mettle.  If  there  was  one  horse  on 
the  ranch  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  Redstar,  it 
was  this  dark  bay  beauty  with  his  mane  like  a 
lady's  tresses  and  his  gentle  eyes. 

But  Redstar's  eyes  were  gentler,  his  soft  coat 
darker  with  a  faint  black  shadow  drifting  through 
it  along  shoulder  and  hip  where  the  dim  black  dap- 
ples shone,  his  regal  head  higher,  his  nostrils 
smaller,  more  delicate,  his  slim  legs  longer,  his 
massive  withers  higher. 

When  Val  Hannon  looked  at  Redstar  a  mist  of 
tears  sometimes  dimmed  her  eyes,  a  lump  rose  in 
her  throat. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  possible  that  a  horse  could  be  so 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  PARADISE  29 

grand,  so — so  human/^  she  said  once,  ''  he's  more 
than  a  horse  in  all  truth.  There's  a  spirit  in  him 
that's  like  a  soul." 

And  she  was  right,  for  when  she  came  to  the 
upper  bars  and  cupping  her  hands  to  her  scarlet 
mouth  sent  out  the  double  whistle  that  was  between 
them  only,  it  was  more  than  a  horse  who  raised  his 
splendid  head — alert  enough  now — ^lifted  his  flow- 
ing tail  a  trifle,  arched  his  high  neck  and  sailed 
away  across  the  fields  toward  her — ^it  was  a  friend. 

Nay,  more — ^it  was  a  lover. 

A  lover  who  smelled  of  her  hair  with  long  inhala- 
tions, as  if  he  drew  the  beloved  scent  of  her  into  his 
lungs,  who  rested  his  great  muzzle  on  her  shoulder, 
rubbed  his  cheek  on  hers — red  satin  on  tawny  vel- 
yet — who  nibbled  her  hands  with  his  soft  lips  and 
searched  her  garments  for  tidbits. 

He  stood  like  a  rock  while  she  flung  her  saddle 
on  him,  cinched  it  carefully  and  mounted — but  then 
Dame  Nature  opened  her  hand  and  poured  upon 
him  the  speed  of  her  swift  things — the  hill  streams 
rushing,  the  winds  across  the  plains,  the  fires  that 
sweep  through  grass. 

When  Redstar  swept  out  from  the  wide  ranch 
yard  and  sailed  away  down  across  the  levels  with 
Val  in  the  saddle,  her  father  sometimes  stood  and 
watched  them  with  such  a  look  of  pride  as  a  king 
might  wear  beholding  his  domain  from  the  moun- 
tain tops. 

"  By  all  that's  wonderful,  Tom,"  he  said  once 
softly,  striking  a  fist  in  his  open  palm,  "  there  isn't 


130  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

a  pair  like  them  in  this  world !  Do  you  know  what 
that  horse  can  do?  He's  eight  years  old  an'  he 
was  once "  But  there  he  checked  his  impul- 
sive speech  and  his  steady  eyes  flickered  a  bit  upon 
the  distant  two,  and  Tom  Briston  did  not  know 
what  it  was  that  Redstar  could  do,  or  had  been. 

And  Val,  loose  in  the  saddle  as  an  Indian,  shot 
through  the  soft  blue  atmosphere  like  a  bolt,  her 
dark  eyes  half  closed,  her  lips  apart,  a  smile  dim- 
pling in  her  cheeks,  drunk  to  the  heart  on  the  glori- 
ous speed,  the  keen  singing  of  the  wind  in  her  ears, 
the  humming  thunder  of  Redstar's  shining  hoofs. 

Redstar  himself  was  no  less  drunken  with  his 
own  perfection.  He  had  run  always — always,  since 
those  dim  days  which  he  had  nearly  forgotten — 
and  the  open  sage  was  to  him  an  amphitheatre. 
There  was  nothing  in  all  the  blue  distance  to  stop 
him. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  land  to  catch  him — 
had  never  been.  He  had  run  with  Redcloud,  and 
with  the  slim  young  racers  Firebrand  and  The 
Flame,  and  with  Lightning,  but  always  he  had  run 
away  from  them.  Dawnlight  had  screamed  and 
fought  her  bit,  and  raged  like  a  fury  because  she 
fell  behind,  had  stopped  and  plunged  and  acted  like 
a  maniac,  and  John  Hannon  had  never  let  her  run 
again. 

Only  Lightning,  of  all  the  speedy  crew,  had  hung 
on  Redstar's  flank  for  any  length  of  time,  and  the 
master  had  looked  at  him  with  new  interest. 

"  There's  somethin'  by-ordinary  in  this  Lightnin^ 


THE  FKIENDS  OF  PARADISE  31 

horse,  Tom/'  he  had  said,  "  for  th'  Redstar's  a  high 
gauge  to  judge  by — a  damn  high  gauge!  '^ 

On  that  soft  warm  day  when  Lolo  Sanchez  car- 
ried her  gold  down  through  the  gaping  street  of 
Santa  Leandra  and  did  not  see  the  gazers  for  her 
dreaming,  Val  Hannon  drifted  down  across  the 
bunch-grass  levels  on  the  great  red  king  and  smiled 
in  the  joy  of  freedom,  the  splendour  of  her  youth 
and  the  glory  of  the  open  spaces. 

She  went  by  Crystal  Flow,  moving  gently  above 
its  sands,  shaded  by  the  poplar  tree  that  grew  be- 
side it,  a  sentinel  to  be  seen  afar,  and  lay  on  her 
face  to  drink,  Kedstar's  velvet  nose  a  foot  from  her 
cheek.  She  sat  for  a  while  in  the  scant  and  fitful 
shadow  of  the  poplar  and  looked  far  to  the  south 
and  west,  her  dark  eyes  hawk-keen.  Kedstar,  too, 
searched  the  wide-spread  land  and  found  in  it  noth- 
ing alien,  only  the  cattle  grazing  in  scattered  herds, 
an  occasional  rider  and  his  horse  dark  dots  among 
them,  a  buzzard  or  two  sailing  high  in  the  blue 
vault. 

So  presently  they  left  the  Crystal  Flow  and 
swung  far  and  away  toward  the  north  and  west,  to 
skirt  the  foot  of  the  Mesa  Grande  that  lifted  its 
flat  top  high  above  the  surrounding  levels,  to  find 
the  narrow  trail  that  went  up  its  south  side  in  steep 
and  dangerous  slants,  and  to  climb  to  its  high  table- 
land where  the  ancient  Indian  huts  stood,  hollow 
and  deserted,  whipped  by  the  winds  and  eaten  by 
their  sands. 

These  silent  places  held  a  lure  for  Val  Han- 


32  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

non,  had  always  drawn  her  from  the  time  when,  a 
little  child,  her  father  had  first  brought  her  here  to 
scan  the  world  below.  They  stood  as  they  had 
stood  for  uncounted  years,  their  blank  walls  broken 
only  by  the  small  apertures  that  let  in  the  light 
high  up  along  their  sides,  their  clumsy  ladders 
leading  to  their  flat  roofs,  their  dark  and  dismal 
rooms  peopled  only  by  the  ghosts  of  the  departed 
race  that  made  them.  The  places  of  their  fires  were 
still  extant,  signs  of  cunning  craft  still  lingered  in 
the  scant  utensils  that  littered  some  of  them,  the 
pictures  cut  in  the  crumbling  walls. 

An  impregnable  stronghold  had  once  been  this 
Mesa  Grande,  keeping  safe  its  timid  people.  There 
had  been  no  trail  up  its  weathered  sides  in  the  days 
when  they  prayed  to  the  sun-god  from  its  top,  only 
such  a  secret  way  that  two  men  might  keep  down  an 
army.  The  trail  had  come  with  the  white  man 
whose  curiosity  had  conquered  the  precipice. 

So  Val  rode  about  the  table-land  this  day  and 
looked  down  on  all  the  plains  about,  scanned  the 
forbidding  range  of  the  Blind  Trail  Hills  that 
frowned  against  the  east,  and  sauntered  slowly 
through  the  silent  group  of  huts.  Presently,  as  the 
sun  went  down  the  west  and  the  desert  twilight  be- 
gan to  sift  its  wondrous  colours  through  the  golden 
haze,  she  rode  out  to  the  edge  of  the  mesa  that  faced 
the  west  and  sat  searching  the  world  below. 

Eedstar,  too,  looked  keenly  all  around  with  his 
bright  dark  eyes,  his  great  head  high  in  the  air,  his 
long  mane  flowing  gently  down  the  arch  of  his  neck. 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  PARADISE  33 

Val  sat  straight  in  her  saddle,  her  hands  folded 
on  the  pommel. 

And  as  they  rested  so  in  the  hush  of  the  eternal 
silence  alone  on  the  mesa  with  its  ghosts  of  a  van- 
ished people,  something  moved  on  the  plain  below, 
far  off  to  the  west,  and  caught  their  searching 
gaze. 

A  band  of  horsemen  rode  there,  swiftly,  sweep- 
ing out  of  the  north  where  lay  the  town  of  Santa 
Leandra,  and  one  shot  out  ahead,  a  leader. 

The  girl  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and 
watched  this  rider  and  his  horse.  A  red  horse  it 
was — a  great  red  horse  whose  mane  lifted  above 
him  like  a  cloud,  whose  beautiful  body  lay  stretched 
along  the  earth  in  skimming  flight,  whose  whole 
make  and  seeming  were  oddly  familiar. 

For  a  long  moment  she  watched,  while  her  eyes 
grew  round  with  wonder  and  her  lips  fell  apart. 
Then  she  dropped  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  Redstar's 
neck  as  if  she  made  sure  of  his  living  presence. 

"  Sweetheart,"  she  said  at  last,  incredulously, 
"  if  you  weren't  here  beneath  me  I'd  swear  you  ran 
yonder,  as  sure  as  death ! '' 

And  far  off  there  where  he  rode  like  the  wind 
itself  toward  the  mystery  of  the  all-engulfing  Bor- 
der, Velantrie  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  scanned  the 
solitary  horse  and  rider,  standing  like  a  statue  high 
on  the  mesa^s  edge. 

He  was  too  far  away  to  see  the  wondrous  beauty 
of  the  red  king  facing  him,  or  to  know  his  rider  for 
a  woman.     But  with  his  characteristic  gaiety  he 


34  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

stood  up  for  a  second  and  sweeping  the  broad  hat 
from  his  head,  waved  it  in  circles. 

And  Val  Hannon,  answering  the  stranger's  sig- 
nal, raised  a  hand  above  her  head. 

Then  Velantrie  was  gone  into  the  distance  and 
she  turned  Redstar  and  went  slowly  down  the  dan- 
gerous trail,  among  the  veils  of  purple  and  crim- 
son and  amethyst  which  the  coming  night  was  wav- 
ing across  her  dreamy  face. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  summer  drowsed  upon  the  land.  The  cat- 
tle moving  in  the  sage  cast  up  clouds  of  dust 
that  hung  for  a  time  and  settled  back  upon 
the  spot.  The  winds  had  died  this  day  and  the  bra- 
zen sun  was  monarch.  Where  the  Little  Antelope 
trickled  sluggishly  between  its  low  banks,  to  nurse 
the  straggling  growth  of  trees  that  lined  it,  the 
heat  was  somewhat  tempered.  Cottonwoods  grew 
here,  tall  and  slim,  and  many  wasatcha  trees  to 
spread  their  lacy  shadow,  and  there  were  desert 
flowers  planted  in  stone-edged  beds  among  the  sand, 
while  the  sword-like  spikes  of  the  maguey  plant 
reached  out  to  catch  the  unwary.  This  was  a  des- 
ert garden,  rugged,  grassless,  inured  to  heat  and 
drought,  yet  pleasant  to  the  eye  and  mind  as  many 
a  more  favoured  spot  was  not.  It  was  hard  and  bare 
under  foot,  its  walks  swept  daily  by  hands  passion- 
ately eager  to  serve  its  master,  and  it  wa^  neat  in 
all  its  corners.  To  the  west  of  the  garden  and  be- 
yond the  trees,  standing  out  against  the  sun  and 
the  desert  winds  like  a  speared  and  shielded  war- 
rior, the  long  blank  walls  of  the  Mission  took  the 
light  on  their  pale  expanse  in  a  way  to  be  seen  for 
many  miles  across  the  plains. 

And  it  was  a  warrior,  this  aged  and  wind-worn 

35 


36  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

structure,  its  shield  those  same  impregnable  walls, 
its  weapon  the  simple  cross  that  caught  the  sunsets 
from  its  lofty  roof,  for  beneath  its  spreading  feet 
were  gathered  as  sad  and  motley  a  crew  as  one 
might  look  upon  in  many  a  long  day's  search,  and 
they  were  safe  in  its  protection. 

Peons,  waifs  on  the  changing  tides  of  fortune, 
refugees  from  the  turbulent  land  across  the  Border, 
those  broken  and  dispossessed  by  the  warring  fac- 
tions that  destroyed  their  own  and  got  nowhere, 
the  sick  in  mind  and  soul  and  body — these  came  to 
the  doors  of  Refugio  and  none  was  turned  away. 

For  at  those  doors  stood  Father  Hillaire  in  his 
worn  old  cassock,  his  rosary  at  his  side  and  in  his 
wise  blue  eyes  the  undying  love  for  humanity  that 
burned,  a  vital  flame,  lighted  at  the  heart  of  God 
Himself. 

For  forty  years  Father  Hillair^  had  watched  the 
stretching  plains.  He  had  seen  some  piteous 
things,  and  more  that  were  tragic,  and  some  that 
were  bright  with  faith  and  courage  and  everlasting 
fidelity — such  as  John  Hannon's  love  for  his  blind 
wife — and  he  was  gentle  with  understanding.  He 
had  said  the  service  in  Refugio  when  its  ancient 
benches  were  packed  with  a  dark-faced  crew,  and 
when  there  was  no  voice  in  the  sounding  spaces  but 
his  own  to  give  response.  Mexic,  Indian,  white 
renegade,  they  had  fluxed  and  failed  through  gold- 
fever,  cattle-war,  peace  and  Border  raid,  a  human 
stream  from  which  he  had  striven  ceaselessly  to 
salvage  drift.    Many  he  had  saved  to  better  things, 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     37 

some  he  had  buried  with  tears  of  anguish  on  his 
own  cheeks,  and  more  had  slipped  away  through 
his  eager  hands  to  drift  and  idle  in  the  loose  sin- 
ways  that  rived  that  lawless  land. 

But  those  who  came  to  the  Mission  must  work, 
for  Father  Hillair^  was  poor  in  worldly  goods  and 
the  scant  fare  that  was  so  free  on  the  long  board  in 
the  great  bare  living-room  behind  the  church  must 
be  taken  from  the  soil  with  unceasing  labour. 

Frijoles  grew  on  the  level  stretches  across  the 
stream  and  a  few  bands  of  cattle  ran  on  the  open 
range,  while  sturdy  grapes  purpled  on  the  wall  that 
clasped  the  garden.  Brown  bread  and  milk  and 
simple  home-made  wine,  and  the  frijoles  always, 
these  waited  the  comer  at  the  Mission  steps,  be  it 
dawn  or  dark  or  in  the  dead  of  night.  But  some- 
times the  slices  of  the  dark  bread  were  thin,  the 
tea  strongly  flavoured  with  sage,  for  gold  came 
scarcely  to  the  padre's  coffers  in  these  days,  and 
there  were  so  many  things  to  buy  in  the  distant 
towns — garments  for  his  ragged  refugees,  tobacco 
for  his  aged  pensioners  who  sat  in  the  sun,  their 
work-days  done,  and  medicines  for  the  abandoned 
girl-mother  with  her  baby  at  her  breast  and  her 
racking  cough — and  sometimes  Father  Hillair^ 
was  desperate  in  his  need. 

This  day  he  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  Mission 
among  his  dry  garden  beds  and  read  his  ancient 
books  with  comfortable  pleasure,  for  two  new  dere- 
licts on  the  sea  of  life  had  been  added  to  his  flock 
— and  there  had  been  beans  in  plenty  and  he  had 


38  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

watched  them  satisfy  real  hunger  and  follow  Jose- 
phina  to  the  inner  regions  for  much  needed  sleep. 
These  were  two  peonSy  a  man  and  woman,  whose 
last  ragged  sheep  had  gone  to  feed  the  no  less 
ragged  guerrilla  band  of  some  nameless  generalis- 
simo across  the  line,  and  who  had  given  up  in  the 
last  apathy  of  despair.  They  were  worn  and  done 
from  long  foot-travel,  and  it  had  joyed  the  father's 
heart  to  take  them  in. 

Therefore  he  read  and  smiled  from  time  to  time 
with  the  little  creasing  lines  beside  his  gentle  lips 
that  made  the  babies  cling  to  his  hand,  the  lean  dogs 
stretch  at  his  feet  in  serene  confidence. 

The  sun  went  down  toward  the  west  and  the  long 
blue  shadows  started  out  across  the  level  floor  from 
the  lone  shafts  of  stone  and  the  table-lands  of  the 
mesaSy  and  the  little  wind  began  to  whisper  from 
the  south,  while  the  wondrous  colours  came  sifting 
through  the  light. 

Those  colours  had  been  .to  Father  Hillair^  one  of 
the  priceless  possessions  of  his  life,  a  gift  of  God 
in  all  truth,  a  wonderful  healing  and  inspiration. 

Never  was  the.  day  so  dark,  the  future  so  uncer- 
tain, but  that  his  burdened  heart  found  peace  and 
hope  in  their  beholding. 

Rose,  lavender,  amethyst,  purple,  they  came  sift- 
ing in  the  late  light  like  fine  gem-dust  through  the 
ethereal  gold  of  the  sunshine,  to  spread  and  drift 
all  across  the  level  world  of  the  rangeland,  master- 
paints  from  the  brush  of  the  Master  Artist. 

Today,  as  they  flushed  the  high  vault  above  the 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     39 

garden,  Father  Hillair^  shut  his  beloved  books  and 
rose  to  greet  them. 

In  that  instant  there  came  the  sound  of  some- 
thing more  to  greet — the  long-roll  of  a  running 
horse  upon  the  distant  plain. 

He  hurried  to  the  opening  in  the  high  wall  where 
the  great  gates  turned  back  upon  it  and  looked 
eagerly  out.  For  a  moment  a  pucker  of  concentra- 
tion drew  in  between  his  brows,  then  smoothed 
away  as  the  charming  smile  came  upon  his  features. 

"  Ah ! ''  he  said  aloud,  delightedly,  "  Velantrie!  " 

It  could  be  no  other. 

There  was  not  in  the  land  another  pair  like  the 
two  who  came  skimming  forward  like  a  swallow, 
the  man  and  the  horse — there  could  not  be.  They 
seemed  not  two  but  one,  so  perfectly  did  they  blend 
together  in  motion  and  appearance.  The  rider  car- 
ried his  broad  black  hat  in  his  hand  and  the  wind 
of  their  coming  blew  the  black  hair  back  from  his 
white  forehead,  and  he  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
a  little  boy  running  to  his  mother,  for  his  face  was 
bright  with  laughter  to  greet  the  old  priest  in  the 
gate. 

"  Father ! ''  he  cried  as  the  great  red  horse  thun- 
dered up  to  slide  in  the  dust  and  stop  with  his 
haunches  to  the  earth,  his  fiery  eyes  a-shine  in  his 
broad  bay  face,  ^"^  Padre!    Ave!  ^' 

He  flung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  caught  the 
padre's  hands  in  both  his  own,  pumping  them  up 
and  down,  boy-fashion. 

"  My  son !  "  said  Father  Hillair^,  gladly,  search- 


^40  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

ing  the  sparkling  face,  "  Son — son !  It  has  been 
long,  long  since  Eefugio  has  seen  you.  Come  in. 
Have  you  eaten?  " 

^'  Not  since  yesterday,  but  what  matters?  " 

He  laid  an  arm  affectionately  about  the  old  man's 
shoulders  and  turned  toward  the  garden,  carefully 
gathering  the  bridle  rein  he  had  not  loosed. 

"  What  matters?  I  am  a  man  who  masters  him- 
self, father.  My  appetites,  my  passions — they 
serve  me,  not  I  them.  I  could  go  another  day — 
two  more  days — without  food  and  still  ride  to  the 
Border.'' 

He  laughed  and  looked  down  in  Father  Hillair^'s 
face,  though  the  priest  himself  was  a  tall  man. 

So  they  entered  the  garden,  drawing  the  great 
red  stallion  after,  and  the  father  stopped  and  se- 
curely closed  the  gates. 

''  Bonifacio,"  he  called  into  the  depths  where  the 
shadows  were  already  falling,  "  come  and  take  The 
Comet.  Give  him,"  he  continued  as  a  slim  youth 
came  briskly  up  through  the  wasatcha  trees,  "a 
little  water — not  much — and  rub  him  down  well. 
Then  a  feed  from  the  bins  in  the  north  stable.  Keep 
watch  upon  him  thyself  until  I  call.  Come,  Don- 
ald," and  he  led  the  newcomer  in  along  the  great 
wall  of  the  church  where  the  sturdy  creepers  grew 
to  clothe  it  like  a  velvet  garment,  between  the  bor- 
dered beds,  and  to  the  high-ceiled  living-room  where 
the  candles  already  glimmered  in  their  black  iron 
sconces  and  the  sweet  face  of  the  Christ  looked 
down  from  the  dark  walls  in  pitying  compassion. 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     41 

Dusky  women,  their  faces  meek  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  that  house,  went  noiselessly  about  the  set- 
ting of  the  evening  meal,  and  old  Josephina,  for 
many  years  the  chatelaine,  greeted  the  stranger 
with  a  warmth  of  recognition  in  her  wrinkled  fea- 
tures. 

"  Senor ! ''  she  said,  "  you  ride  to  Refugio  again !  " 

"  Again,  Josephina,"  he  answered,  "  the  memory 
of  your  frijoles  has  caused  me  many  an  ache  as  I 
lay  under  far  stars.  I  must  return,'^  and  he  spread 
his  slim  hands  comically  over  the  slender  flatness 
of  his  middle  region.  The  old  woman  laughed  and 
turned  eagerly  toward  the  dim  domain  rearward 
from  which  came  sweet  odours. 

Always  a  woman  delights  to  feed  a  man,  to  see 
him  eat  to  repletion,  to  gather  the  empty  plates  and 
cups  afterward.  It  is  a  throwback  to  the  days 
when  food  meant  strength,  and  strength  meant  pro- 
tection to  her  and  to  her  offspring. 

And  so,  presently,  Velantrie  of  the  Border  sat 
at  the  long  table  with  the  padre  of  Refugio  and  ate 
as  one  famished,  though  with  grace  and  manners. 
He  bowed  his  black  head  through  the  short  bless- 
ing and  withheld  his  hand  with  a  slow  repression, 
though  hunger  was  with  him  keenly. 

Father  Hillair^  watched  him  with  smiling  eyes 
in  which  there  was  a  shadow  of  sadness,  and  gos- 
siped about  a  thousand  innocent  things,  the  young 
calves  in  the  lean  herds,  the  sickness  that  had  taken 
sharp  toll  of  his  sheep,  the  news  of  the  scattered 
ranches,  though  an  observer  would  have  noticed 


42  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

that  he  carefully  avoided  all  reference  to  those  wild 
doings  of  the  Border  which  furnished  his  salvage, 
the  refugees  and  drift. 

When  the  meal  was  finished  the  two  men  went 
outside  again  to  the  starlight  and  the  dry  garden, 
drew  together  the  worn  chairs  by  the  little  table 
where  lay  the  ancient  books,  and  talked  in  that  deep 
communion  which  comes  with  liking  and  under- 
standing. 

Twilight  deepened  and  the  tip  of  Velantrie's 
cigarette  glowed  in  the  dusk,  sign-manual  of  com- 
fort. 

They  talked  swiftly  and  nearly,  and  the  padre 
leaned  forward  and  laid  his  worn  hand  on  Velan- 
trie's  knee. 

"  Oh,  my  son,"  he  said  softly,  "  I  have  grieved 
over  this  waste  for  all  the  months  I  have  known 
you !  Loss — loss !  It  is  not  right,  a  crime  against 
humanity  for  a  man  like  you — a  man  who  can  con- 
trol himself — to  cast  his  high  chance  to  the  four 
winds." 

Velsintrie  smiled  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

"  You  know,  father,"  he  said,  "  that  I'd  take  that 
from  none  but  you." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  priest  firmly,  "  and  I  dare.  I 
have  dared  much  in  my  time.  The  keen  knife  is  the 
kindest.    I  dare  because  I  love  you." 

"  And  I  take  it  and  come  back — for  the  same  rea- 
son. See,"  he  laid  aside  the  cigarette  in  his  fingers 
and  reached  in  a  pocket  on  his  hip. 

"  I  have  ridden  a  day  and  half  a  night  to  bring 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     43 

you  this.  I  will  cover  the  same  ground  in  the  next 
few  hours  to  get  back  from  whence  I  came.  But 
the  bringing  gives  me  joy." 

He  lifted  the  old  man's  hand  and  placed  therein  a 
buckskin  bag,  heavy,  and  musical  with  the  dull 
clink  of  gold. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said,  "  it  is  yours." 

But  Father  Hillair^  shuddered  and  his  fingers 
slipped  loose  from  the  other's  pressure,  so  that  the 
bag  fell  back  upon  the  table. 

"  I — can't,"  he  said  sadly,  "  it  is  tainted  gold." 

"  True,"  said  Velantrie,  gaily,  *^  I  took  it  from  a 
mine-owner  who  owns  a  thousand  peons ^  soul  and 
body,  who  drives  them  through  hunger  and  oppres- 
sion down  into  the  darkness  of  death  with  never  a 
hope  or  a  comfort."  His  soft  voice  had  become  sud- 
denly hard  and  bitter. 

**  Damn  him !  I  hope  to  break  him  this  coming 
year — if  I  keep  my  breath  that  long." 

Father  Hillair^  caught  his  own  breath  in  a  sigh. 

*^  Oh,  my  son !  I  cannot  vision  such  a  thing!  It 
cuts  me  to  the  heart !  Give  it  up — give  up  this  life. 
Start  over — go  away — into  the  north — somewhere 
— and  forget  these  rides,  these  desperate  risks,  this 
dashing  against  the  law  of  God  and  man!  All 
these  months  I  have  prayed  for  you.  I  will  con- 
tinue until  my  object  is  attained.  I  must  save  you, 
son." 

With  a  quick  spring  Velantrie  was  on  his  feet. 
He  swept  the  bag  of  gold  into  his  hand  and  held  it 
out. 


44  VAL  OP  PAEADISE 

^'  Will  you  take  it?  "  he  asked  evenly,  ^'  to  buy 
food  for  your  poor,  your  aged,  your  sick  and  your 
little  ones  that  swarm  here  in  your  blessed  garden? 
Or  shall  I  ride  south  again  and  squander  it  on  the 
gaming  tables  of  Cejon  and  Oaremente,  on  the  girls 
of  the  dance  halls? '' 

He  was  steady,  cool,  ready  to  do  what  he  prom- 
ised. Slowly  the  old  priest  rose  to  face  him  in  the 
dusk.    He  stretched  out  a  hand. 

"  I  will  take  it,  my  son,"  he  said,  "  a  doubtful 
means  to  a  holy  end,"  and  he  took  the  bag  of  gold 
and  dropped  it  in  the  deep  pocket  of  his  cassock. 

"  See,"  he  said  further,  "  the  candles  are  lighted 
on  the  altar.  It  is  time  for  the  evening  service. 
iWill  you  not  come  in — just  this  once?  " 

Velantrie  shook  his  head. 

"  Why  ask  me  that,  father?  You  know  I  am  a 
man  of  sin,  that  I  am  forsworn.  My  foot  would 
profane  the  Mission  sill." 

"  Nay,"  said  Father  Hillair^,  quickly,  "  it  is  laid 
for  such." 

"  But  not  mine.  You  know  my  life — and  what 
my  future  is.  I  cannot  cross  a  church  door — not 
I,  with  my  pledge  of  blood.  Forget  it — and  re- 
member me,  padre,  at  dusks  like  this." 

Once  more  he  smiled,  that  brilliant  lighting  of 
his  lean  face  that  shone  like  a  fire  behind  a  curtain, 
and  putting  a  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  shook 
it  gently.  Then  he  whirled  and  put  his  fingers  to 
his  lips.  The  whistle  that  startled  the  quiet  gar- 
den was  enough  to  split  the  eardrums.    Instantly 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  45 

from  the  distant  side  of  the  enclosure  where  the 
stables  stood  there  came  an  answer,  a  wild,  shrill, 
heavy  scream,  the  piercing  neigh  of  a  stallion,  and 
a  huge  dark  bulk  came  trotting  swiftly  down  the 
walks  beneath  the  trees,  its  rein,  jerked  from  the 
hands  of  Bonifacio,  dangling  at  its  feet. 

The  Comet  came  to  his  master. 

Velantrie  put  his  palm  to  the  horse's  lips,  their 
secret  sign  of  greeting. 

"  Old  man,"  he  said  gently,  ^^  hueno/^ 

"A  wonderful  creature,"  said  Father  Hillair^, 
^^  a  king  in  all  truth." 

"  Right.  There  isn't  a  horse  like  him  in  the 
world,  father,  not  in  all  the  world — save  one.  One 
other  only — and  when " 

But  Father  Hillair^  interrupted  hurriedly. 

"  Come,  my  son,"  he  said  quickly,  ''  come  with 
me  to  the  door — ^just  to  the  door.  Will  you  not? 
The  peace,  the  promise,  of  the  holy  place — ^will  you 
not  look  upon  them,  even  from  afar — ^because  I 
love  you?" 

For  a  moment  the  young  man  stood  in  silence. 
Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  airily,  took  off  his 
hat,  touched  The  Comet  with  his  fingertips,  and 
followed  the  priest  along  the  wall  to  where  a  nar- 
row door  let  into  the  church  at  the  side  near  the 
front.  Here  he  stopped  with  his  foot  withheld  from 
the  sill. 

He  leaned  forward  with  his  shoulder  in  its  flan- 
nel shirt  against  the  lintel,  his  black  head  bare,  his 
iblue  eyes  steady  and  bright,  and  looked  long  and 


46  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

in  silence  at  the  beauty  of  the  altar  with  its  hand- 
worked altar-cloth,  its  sacred  adornments,  its  can- 
dles burning  softly.  The  church  was  very  old.  Its 
vaulted  roof  was  black  with  age,  its  every  beam 
carved  in  entirety  by  long-vanished  hands.  Pillars, 
thick  as  a  man's  body,  stood  majestically  down  the 
centre,  and  along  the  walls  hung  the  sacred  pic- 
tures of  the  Stations  of  the  Cross.  At  the  left  of 
the  altar  stood  a  lovely  statue  of  the  Holy  Virgin, 
her  beautiful  ivory  hands  folded  meekly  on  her 
breast,  while  at  the  right  the  Christ  Himself  looked 
tenderly  down  upon  the  dusk  and  the  shadows  and 
the  emptiness. 

Long  Velantrie  stood  and  gazed  and  his  blue  eyes 
between  their  dark  lashes  became  very  soft.  The 
priest  beside  him,  keen  reader  of  the  human  face, 
saw  that  softening  and  his  good  heart  leaped.  He 
was  too  wise  to  press  the  slight  advantage. 

Instead,  when  the  other  stirred,  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Good-bye,  my  son,"  he  said  gently,  "  come  when 
you  can,  and  remember  that  always  at  dusk  your 
name  ascends  from  this  altar." 

"Good-bye,  father,"  said  Velantrie,  gravely, 
^^  huenas  noches.  Yale!  ^'  he  added  gracefully,  giv- 
ing the  farewell  in  three  tongues. 

Then  he  gripped  the  other's  hand  hard,  caught 
the  pommel  and  leaped  into  the  saddle  without  a 
foot  to  stirrup,  though  the  great  horse  stood  seven- 
teen hands  to  his  bare  shoulder. 

There  was  a  sudden  leap,  a  thunder  of  hoofs  on 


THE  CROSS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     47 

the  hard-beaten  earth,  and  they  were  gone,  a  wind 
and  a  bolt  of  speed,  out  through  the  gate  which 
Bonifacio  had  opened. 

For  a  long  moment  Father  Hillair^  stood  in  the 
dim  light  by  the  narrow  door  of  the  church  and  lis- 
tened to  the  long-roll  of  their  going,  a  lifting,  ex- 
citing sound,  and  he  shook  his  head  and  sighed  and 
touched  the  gold  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  would  that  he  came  no  more  to  this  land  of 
his  destiny,"  he  whispered  miserably,  "gay,  reck- 
less, lovable — and  lost  to  all  eternity.  What  if  I 
told  him  of  that  other  horse — that  only  other  one 
in  all  the  earth  to  match  The  Comet,  the  wondrous 
red  king  of  John  Hannon's  brood?  What,  when 
he  hears  and  knows — as  he  must  surely  do  if  he 
comes  many  times  to  Refugio  from  the  oblivion  of 
his  Border-land  of  crime?  Tragedy  will  some  day 
stalk  through  the  sunlight  here — and  I — I  will  be 
powerless  to  help !  Jesu  mio/^  he  whispered  more 
sadly  still,  "  it  will  be  in  higher  hands  than  mine!  " 

Then  he  turned  into  the  sacred  dimness  of  the 
Mission  where  shrouded  heads  were  bent  between 
the  benches  and  rosaries  slipped  through  dark  fin- 
gers, for  the  drift  and  the  flotsam  of  Refugio  were 
already  gathered  there. 

As  he  mounted  the  altar  steps  he  was  still  listen- 
ing to  the  thunder  of  The  Comet's  mighty  hoofs 
upon  the  plains,  growing  swiftly  fainter  in  the  sum- 
mer night. 


CHAPTER  V 

"  WHY  DON^T  YOU  RUN  REDSTAR?  " 

NIGHT  lay  soft  on  Paradise.  Under  the  blue- 
black  dome  of  the  starlit  sky  the  great  shad- 
owy stretches  of  the  rangeland  went  out 
and  away  into  infinitude.  The  ancient  house, 
curved  round  its  patio^  stood  dark  and  forbidding, 
like  a  fortress.  Among  the  purple  iris  the  little 
whisper  of  Bluewater  murmured  in  the  silence. 

Tree  toads  talked  at  intervals  and  a  cicada 
shrilled  its  endless  tune,  while  out  in  one  of  the  gay- 
fringed  hammocks  young  Felicita,  slim  and  brown, 
listened  with  downcast  eyes  to  the  gentle  voice  of 
Arias  Gomez,  also  slim  and  brown,  pleading  the 
ancient  tale  in  the  ancient  way. 

"  Listen,  corazon  dulce/^  he  whispered,  "  there  is 
the  empty  cabin  beyond  the  third  corral.  The 
Senor  John  will  give  it  me  for  the  fixing  up  a  bit — 
new  windows  and  the  roof  re-thatched  with  grass. 
I  have  three  rugs,  woven  by  mi  hisabuela^  and  there 
are  many  cooking  pots,  little  used,  packed  in  the 
storeroom  from  the  last  round-up.  The  Senor 
John,  now,  he  will  give  them  me  I  know  for  the 
good  work  done  at  the  branding.  Did  he  not  praise 
himself  my  deftness  with  the  irons?  You  have 
only  to  say  the  word,  amor,  and  we  will  go  to  Re- 
fugio, to  the  padre ^^ 

48 


"WHY  DON'T  YOU  KUN  EEDSTAR?^^     49 

But  Felicita  was  coy  and  shook  her  black  head 
and  smiled  maddeningly  with  a  flash  of  her  white 
teeth,  and  not  even  the  lure  of  the  three  brilliant 
rugs  of  Arias'  great-grandmother  could  bring  the 
coveted  promise  from  her  pretty  lips.  The  boy 
pleaded  despairingly  while  the  cicadas  sang  and 
from  the  far  corrals  there  came  the  scream  of  Red- 
cloud,  ramping  in  his  pen. 

In  the  great  room  of  the  deep  adobe  house  there 
were  no  candles  lighted,  for  though  Fanita  had 
come  soft-footed  to  do  that  service,  the  master  had 
waved  her  away.  John  Hannon  sat  in  one  of  the 
big  chairs  with  the  cushions  and  smoked  the  short 
pipe  that  always  rode  in  his  inside  pocket  or  be- 
tween his  lips,  and  listened  in  ineffable  content  to 
the  gentle  airs  that  came  softly  from  the  ancient 
keys  pnder  Belle  Hannon's  fingers.  Old  airs  they 
were,  songs  they  had  sung  together  in  their  court- 
ship, the  sentimental  tunes  and  words  of  two  gen- 
erations back,  and  to  him  they  represented  Music 
in  its  entirety. 

Stretched  on  a  couch  in  the  farthest  corner,  her 
slim  length  well-nigh  compassing  it  from  end  to 
end,  her  sun-browned  hands  beneath  her  head,  Val 
lay  and  listened,  too,  though  her  thoughts  were  not 
in  the  past  but  the  future — they  had  to  do  with 
the  coming  dance  at  Hunnewell's  store,  and  with 
the  gay  bunch  of  riders  from  the  outlying  ranches 
who  would  be  there  in  all  their  gala  attire. 

It  would  be  Fourth  of  July  and  every  cow- 
puncher  who  could  straddle  a  cayuse  would  attend. 


50  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

There  would  be  races,  and,  as  always,  the  Red 
Brood  would  be  there,  too. 

All,  that  is,  but  Old  Hotfoot,  shut  out  of  the  ex- 
citement by  constant  motherhood — and  Redstar  the 
king. 

Lightning  would  run  away  from  all  and  sundry 
as  he  had  done  for  two  years  now,  and  Dawnlight, 
if  the  master  would  put  her  up,  would  make  a 
speedy  showing,  and  this  year,  for  the  first  time, 
the  young  matched  racers.  Firebrand  and  The 
Flame,  would  have  their  chance.  Redcloud  was 
getting  a  trifle  old  and  she  had  overheard  some  talk 
between  the  boss  and  Tom  Briston  concerning  his 
withholding. 

Poor  Redcloud-— ^wild  and  strong  and  keen  as  the 
wind  in  spring! 

She  visioned  him,  screaming  in  his  stockade, 
pounding  the  earth  with  his  shining  hoofs,  when 
the  rest  went  off  to  town — for  the  first  time  with- 
out him! 

She  frowned  in  the  dusk  with  a  quick  sorrow  for 
the  old  racer's  passing. 

Redstar  now — Redstar  the  great  king — he  would 
graze  placidly  in  his  green  field  and  take  no  note 
of  the  Red  Brood's  arrogance  and  pride  as  they 
trotted  away,  each  with  a  rider  in  attendance. 

He  would  not  so  much  as  raise  his  splendid  head, 
blink  his  soft  eyes. 

And  yet  of  them  all  he  was  the  king — ^faster  than 
their  fastest,  stronger  than  their  best. 

Why,  wondered  the  girl  as  she  had  wondered 


«  WHY  DON'T  YOU  RUN  REDSTAR?  ''     51 

many  times  before,  why  was  it  that  John  Hannon 
never  ran  the  king? 

"  Dad,"  she  said  presently,  when  there  came  a 
lull  in  the  tinkling  music  while  Belle  Hannon 
hummed  an  elusive  melody  the  better  to  bring  it  to 
her  fingertips,  "  Dad — why  have  you  never  run  Red- 
star  in  the  races?  " 

"Eh?" 

The  rancher  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  suddenly 
and  sat  up  in  his  chair.  His  handsome  dark  eyes, 
so  like  Val's  own  in  one  or  two  expressions,  nar- 
rowed in  the  darkness. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that?  " 

At  the  tone  of  his  voice  any  one  on  the  rancho, 
save  and  except  these  two  women,  would  have 
ceased  to  press  the  conversation. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  his  daughter  answered 
calmly,  "  except  that,  keen  as  you  are  on  horseflesh 
and  racing,  you've  never  let  him  run.  And  you 
know,  and  I  know,  that  he  can  beat  anything 
under  God's  heaven  that  ever  ran  on  these 
plains." 

John  Hannon  put  the  pipe  back  between  his  lips. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  that's  just  th'  reason.  He's 
too  good." 

"  Well — I  guess  that's  so." 

The  girl  studied  a  moment. 

"  That's  so.  There's  nothing  to  run  with  him — 
not  in  a  mile — nor  a  thousand  miles!  And  he'd 
dwarf  the  Red  Brood  down  to  nothing.    Yes — r 


52  VAL  OF  PAKADISE 

She  lay  silent,  thinking,  while  the  elusiye  melody, 
caught  in  Belle  Hannon's  pale  fingers,  came  tin- 
Ming  forth  in  the  twilight. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  of  perfect  quiet,  saye  for 
the  old  piano's  voice,  when  her  mother  swung 
around  on  the  ancient  bench  and  the  master  rose  to 
take  the  outstretched  hand  that  had  held  him  fast 
for  lo,  these  many  years,  Val  stretched  her  healthy 
young  body  and  rose  also. 

"  Dad,''  she  said  again,  "  did  you  ever  see  a  horse 
that  looked  like  Redstar  in  every  line  and  motion? '' 

John  Hannon  stopped  in  his  tracks,  stockstill. 

''  No,"  he  said  at  last  sharply.  "  Why?  " 

"  Because  I  did — from  the  top  of  Mesa  Grande 
the  other  day — a  horse  that  led  a  bunch  of  riders 
from  up  Leandra  way — a  horse  that  was  a  dead 
ringer  for  the  Redstar,  or  I'm  a  liar.  Colour,  size, 
speed,  action — ^it  might  have  been  the  king  himself. 
If  I  had  not  sat  upon  him  myself  that  very  minute 
I'd  have  said  it  was  the  king." 

The  rancher  wet  his  lips,  but  he  straightened  up 
and,  taking  his  wife's  hand,  led  her  out  from 
behind  the  bench,  his  arm  kbout  her  frail  shoul- 
ders. 

"  You're  seein'  things,  Val,"  he  said  with  a  care- 
less laugh,  "  there's  no  boss  in  this  country  that 
looks  like  th'  Redstar.  Th'  height  o'  th'  mesa — th' 
distance — they  distorted  your  sight.  No— there 
ain't  no  match  fer  him  this  side  o' — — " 

^^  Where?  "  asked  Val  as  her  father  paused. 

"  Hell,"  he  said  succinctly  and  led  his  wife  away. 


"WHY  DON'T  YOU  RUN  REDSTAR?^'     53 

But  just  the  same  Val  Hannon  thought  several 
times  in  the  days  that  followed  of  the  great  red 
horse  that  ran  on  the  spreading  plain  far  off  be- 
yond the  mesa,  and  wondered  where  it  came  from — 
for  it  was  a  stranger  in  the  land,  of  course — and 
who  its  rider  was. 

He  was  young,  she  guessed,  for  the  hat  swinging 
in  circles  above  his  head  that  day  had  attested  the 
exuberant  spirit  of  youth. 

But  there  were  many  things  to  think  of  beside  a 
stranger  and  a  mysterious  horse — there  was  the 
dress  for  the  coming  dance,  for  instance,  which  she 
would  make  with  her  own  clever  fingers,  what  time 
she  could  spare  from  the  sweeping  rides  on  the 
plains,  the  romps  with  the  dogs,  the  shrieking 
games  about  the  patio  with  the  brown  babies  of  the 
Mexicans  who  served  the  rancho.  These  games 
were  none  too  popular  with  John  Hannon,  who  be- 
lieved in  his  servants  staying  in  their  places — 
namely,  at  the  northern  part  of  the  huge  old  house. 
He  did  not  like  their  noise,  fearing  it  might  disturb 
Belle's  tranquillity. 

"  Val,"  he  said  sternly  a  few  days  later,  "  why 
can't  you  keep  that  Mexican  rabble  where  they  be- 
long?" 

"  Dad,"  she  answered  flippantly,  "  little  things — 
like  babies  and  kittens  and  puppies — belong  wher- 
ever I  am.  And  if  I  happen  to  be  in  the  patio ^  why, 
how  can  I  help  it?  " 

Her  father,  floored  by  this  audacious  reasoning, 
snapped  his  fingers,  as  if  he  gave  it  up,  and  turned 


54  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

away.  But  Val,  swift  on  her  feet  as  wind,  leaped 
after  him  and  slapping  a  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
man-fashion,  swung  him  to  face  her.  The  smiling, 
intimate  look  in  her  dark  eyes,  bent  steadily  on  his 
own,  melted  his  displeasure  like  snow  before  the 
sun  and  all  was  clear  between  them  on  the  instant. 

^*  Shake,''  the  girl  demanded  further,  holding  out 
her  hand  after  the  manner  of  the  game  they  had 
played  from  her  babyhood  when  anything  went 
wrong  between  them,  and  John  Hannon  struck  his 
palm  to  hers,  while  the  little  crinkles  came  about 
his  eyes,  so  that  the  two  faces  took  on  the  same 
expression,  were  cast  for  an  instant  in  the  same 
mould. 

"  I'm  your  own  daughter,  old  man,"  she  said 
gaily,  "  chip  ofif  the  old  block — am  I  not?  " 

"  Sure  are,"  the  boss  answered  proudly,  study- 
ing her  features. 

^^  Bound  to  rule,  then — eh?  To  have  my  own 
wayl — strong-headed — got  to  take  the  bit  when  I 
think  I  can — sometimes  against  odds?  " 

''  Sure  thing." 

"  Then,  dad — ^you'll  find  the  babies  rolling  on  the 
walks  sometimes — unless  you  whistle  first — ^but  if 
I'm  like  you  there,  rest  assured  that  I  am  like  you 
in  other  ways,  too." 

The  laughter  was  gone  from  her  face  by  this 
time,  a  quick  gravity  coming  in  its  place,  and  she 
held  hard  to  his  hand. 

"  Like  you  in  loyalty — in  deep  love — in  courage, 
I  hope.    I'd  be  a  poor  substitute  for  the  son  you 


"  WHY  DON'T  YOU  RUN  REDSTAR?  '^     55 

never  had  if  I  was  not  all  of  that — a  poor  pupil 
with  such  a  man  as  you  before  me  in  example." 

But  the  rancher  could  bear  little  of  that.  Al- 
ways at  mention  of  such  things  he  flushed  beneath 
the  dark  tan  of  his  skin  and  turned  away,  brusque 
and  businesslike. 

"  He's  a  modest  man,  our  dad.  Belle,"  said  Val 
this  day,  standing  with  a  hand  on  a  hip,  watching 
him  swing  away  down  the  shaded  walk  toward  the 
stables  at  the  north,  "  a  very  modest  man !  And 
handsome !  It's  a  good  thing  I  wasn't  around  when 
you  and  he  were  young,  for  I'd  have  fought  you  to  a 
finish  for  him." 

"He's  the  best  man  on  this  earth,"  Belle  Han- 
non  answered  softly,  "  the  most  wonderful  husband 
a  woman  ever  had." 

But  if  to  his  women  John  Hannon  was  good  and 
brave  and  tender,  combining  the  rugged  qualities 
that  passed  for  virtue  in  this  wild  land,  there  were 
others  in  the  scattered  community  who  thought  dif- 
ferently— Quinlan  of  the  Bar-Star,  for  instance, 
over  at  the  southwest  beyond  the  Broken  Buttes, 
whose  fine  black  racer.  Live  Coal,  had  been  run  ofiE 
his  feet  by  Redcloud  in  his  prime — and  the  Atti- 
son  boys,  Sam  and  Dyke,  of  the  Circle  A,  forty 
miles  due  west,  whose  tongues  were  not  so  guarded 
as  they  might  have  been. 

"Funny  thing  John  Hannon  hain't  never  lost  no 
cattle,"  Dyke  had  said  once  in  Santa  Leandra, 
"when  every  outfit  this  side  the  line,  an'  further 


56  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

north  than  us,  too,  has  stood  to  lose  a  share  eacK 
year.    What's  his  magic,  I'd  like  to  know? '' 

And  John  Hannon  had  heard  the  word  and  when 
next  he  met  Dyke  Attison  he  tapped  the  two  blue 
guns  that  swung  always  at  his  hips  and  looked  the 
other  hard  in  the  eyes. 

"Here's  my  magic.  Dyke,"  he  said  evenly. 
"  Want  t'  see  me  make  it?  "  And  Attison  looked 
back  as  hard. 

"  Not  particularly,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  don't 
take  backwater  for  what  I  said.  I'd  still  like  t' 
know  some  things,  bein'  curious." 

"  Curiosity  killed  a  cat,  onct,"  snapped  the  boss 
of  Paradise,  "  an'  it  ain't  lost  its  power  none.  I'd 
hate  t'  haf  t'  bore  you.  Dyke — but  you'll  either 
keep  a  careful  tongue  in  your  head  about  me,  or 
draw  quicker'n  I  can." 

"  An'  you  know  you've  got  me  there,"  Dyke  said 
hotly,  "  an'  not  only  me  but  every  man  on  this 
here  range — an'  you  use  th'  knowledge  to  bully  th' 
country  with " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence  for  John  Hannon 
flashed  a  hand,  lightning-swift,  at  his  hip  and  shot 
him  where  he  stood — a  fine,  clever  bit  of  marksman- 
ship that  broke  the  right  arm  above  the  elbow  and 
left  Dyke  Attison  maimed  for  life. 

Hannon  stood  holding  the  smoking  gun  that  day 
and  looked  around  the  street  of  the  sleepy  town 
with  his  dark  eyes  narrowed  to  icy  slits,  and  none 
spoke  nor  offered  to  help  Dyke,  clutching  his  shoul- 
der and  swearing  in  white  fury. 


"WHY  DON'T  YOU  RUN  EEDSTAR?''     57 

"  Shoot  me  full  o'  holes ! "  raved  the  latter, 
"  sieve  me  if  you  want  to !  But  Fm  still  curious!  ^^ 
which  proved  him  a  man  of  strong  mettle,  indeed, 
facing  John  Hannon's  guns. 

"  I  ain't  killin'  you  t'day,"  said  Hannon,  "  I'm 
teachin'  you  a  lesson — an'  any  others  that  might 
be — too  damned  curious." 

And  he  shoved  the  gun  into  its  holster,  turned 
on  his  heel  and  strode  away  without  a  backward 
look. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL 

**X  TAL  darling/'  said  Belle  Hannon,  groping 

\/     through  a  door  to  the  depth  and  coolness 

of  the  great  room  which  was  her  daughter's 

own  particular   place,  "how's   the  dress   coming 

on?'' 

Val  went  quickly  to  meet  her  and  drew  her  for- 
ward to  a  chair  beside  the  deep  slit  of  the  west  win- 
dow. It  was  a  rule  of  that  house  that  none  should 
pass  those  outstretched  hands. 

The  master  would  have  struck  a  servant  who  did 
so,  and  have  spoken  to  his  daughter  in  a  tone  she 
would  have  remembered  for  the  same  offence. 
"  Perfectly  lovely !  "  cried  the  tall  girl,  "  see." 
And  she  snatched  a  fluff  of  white  from  the  high- 
built  bed  and  spread  it  on  her  mother's  lap. 

"  There  are  gathers,  little  ones,  about  the  neck 
and  a  pretty  spreading  ruffle.  The  sleeves  are  short 
— just  a  bit  above  the  elbow.  The  skirt  is  full  and 
has  three  little  ruffles  too.  I  shall  wear  my  red 
silk  sash  and  the  Spanish  shoes  with  the  red  heels 
that  dad  brought  me  last  year  when  he  came  home 
from  his  trip.  There  are  red  roses  beginning  to 
bloom  on  the  old  bush  beside  the  kitchen  door  and 
I'll  put  one  of  them  behind  my  ear.  I  have  the  red 
feather  fan,  too." 

58 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL  59 

"  Beautif ]il !  "  said  the  woman,  her  sensitive  fin- 
gers feeling  expertly  of  the  sheer  material  on  her 
lap,  "  seeing  "  the  make  of  the  garment,  ^'  you  will 
look  like  a  full-blown  rose  yourself,  Val,  I  know." 

The  girl  laughed  and  a  small  dimple  came  out  in 
her  left  cheek  just  above  tne  lips'  corner.  Her  dark 
eyes  were  melting  soft  at  the  vision  of  herself  in  all 
this  finery. 

"You  just  bet  I  will,"  she  said  serenely,  and 
Belle  laughed  also.  There  was  a  close  camaraderie 
between  these  two. 

"And  your  father  says  Boyce  Clendenning  will 
be  up  from  El  Rio  Rancho  to  run  his  silver  horse." 

Instantly  Val  frowned. 

"  Funny  how  dad  likes  that  man,"  she  said,  "  he 
thinks  the  sun  rises  and  sets  in  him." 

"  He  must  be  a  good  man,  else  your  father  would 
not  think  so,"  said  Belle,  quietly,  "and  isn't  he 
young?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  handsome?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is.  Big,  blond,  heavy-shouldered,  and 
with  the  smartest  eyes  I  ever  saw — except  dad's 
when  he's  studying  some  one. 

"  Boyce  Clendenning's  got  sense,  I  stake  my 
pile." 

"  And  he's  got  more  than  any  man  of  his  youth 
in  all  this  country.  The  proper  worth  of  El  Rio 
Rancho  itself  makes  him  rich,  not  to  mention  the 
range  he  holds." 

"  All  true,  Belle  dear,"  said  Val,  "  but  just  the 


60  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

same  I'd  rather  dance  with  Billy  Smith  from  the 
Lazy  B,  or  that  Texas  boy  who  rides  for  Quinlan. 
And  say,  say,  mama !  but  that  boy  can  dance !  He's 
slim  as  a  reed  and  his  feet  are  like  tumble  weeds  in 
the  wind.  I  hope  hell  be  in  Santa  Leandra  this 
time.  Haven't  seen  him  for  six  months,  not  since 
the  day  I  rode  with  dad  after  cattle  down  Arroyo 
Pecos  way.  Met  him  on  the  desert  and  had  a  talk, 
but  dad  was  in  a  hurry,  like  he  is  always,  and 
wouldn't  let  me  stay  half  long  enough." 

"  Nice  boy,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Hannon,  "  but 
the  daughter  of  the  Boss  of  Paradise  must  look  a 
little  higher  than  a  cowhand,  dear.  Your  father 
has  reached  always  for  the  highest,  the  best  in  its 
line,  as  he  says  of  everything.  '  I  like  it,'  he  says, 
no  matter  what  it  is,  '  because  it's  the  best  in  its 
line.'  I  guess  he  likes  Clendenning  because  he's  the 
biggest  cattleman — after  himself — ^in  the  country." 

"  I  guess,"  said  Val. 

"  That's  why  he  loves  the  Redstar,  too — ^why  he's 
so  proud  of  you,  Val,  and  of  Paradise.  He's  got 
the  best  in  its  line  of  everything  the  rangeland' 
gives." 

"  In  wives,  too,"  laughed  the  girl  as  she  put  the 
finishing  touch  to  the  gauzy  white  fluff  and  hung  it 
carefully  away  behind  a  curtain  against  the  ancient 
wall.  "  I  guess  we're  not  some  proud  family,  all 
right!  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think.  Belle,  that 
maybe  we're  too  proud — that  we  are,  maybe,  arro- 
gant? Father  Hillair^  now,  look  how  he  lays  up 
for  himself  stores  of  riches  in  Heaven,  and  how 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL  61 

empty  of  pride  he  is.  Pride — pride — I  don't  know 
— we're  full  of  it — and,  my  sakes,  proud  that  we 
are!  But  it's  natural.  Who  on  this  earth  could 
help  but  be  proud  of  Paradise  and  the  Red  Brood ! 
Only  a  dead  man !  " 

And  pride  was  in  Belle  Hannon  as  she  rose  and 
went  swiftly  and  sure-f ootedly  away  into  the  north- 
ern regions  of  the  house  on  some  business  of  the 
mistress  among  her  servants,  humming  a  little  soft 
tune — the  pride  of  the  loving  heart  in  the  strength 
and  power  of  those  it  loves. 

Val,  clear  of  the  tedious  sewing,  stretched  her 
young  arms,  snatched  a  sombrero  from  a  corner, 
drew  a  flannel  shirt  over  her  curly  head,  donned  a 
riding  skirt  and  ran  out  along  the  stone  floor  of  the 
narrow  veranda  that  edged  the  house  and  the  patio 
both. 

Three  cowboys  in  dusty  clothes  were  coming  in 
from  the  corrals,  Briston  the  foreman,  Dirk  Ham- 
mond and  Rosy  Peters. 

At  sight  of  the  girl  every  pair  of  eyes  softened, 
each  lean  face  broke  into  a  smile. 

As  if  she  did  not  see  them  Val  strode  briskly 
along  and  bumped  into  them — and  they,  knowing 
the  little  trick,  leaned  in  together,  making  a  solid 
wall  of  defence — the  weakest  wall  of  defence  in  all 
the  world  against  the  sweetest  assault. 

^^  Oh !  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen !  '^  cried 
Val,  her  lovely  eyes  wide,  "  but  you're  all  so  small  I 
— I  nearly  ran  over  you !  '^ 

^*  No  offence,  lady,  no  offence! "  said  Briston,  po- 


62  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

litely,  as  they  yielded  reluctantly  to  let  her  through, 
'^  we  know  o'  course  when  one  has  such  big  feet 
they  ain't  careful  where  they  step.  Don't  mind 
us/'  and  he  ducked  to  dodge  the  instant  slap  this 
sally  brought  from  her  none-too-gentle  hand. 

Chuckling  the  riders  passed  into  the  house,  for 
Panita  was  ringing  the  big  bell  that  spelled  dinner 
to  those  within  its  sound,  but  Val  swung  out  to  the 
corrals  and  looked  among  the  horses  there  for  Red- 
star.  He  was  not  there,  but  Redcloud  was,  trotting 
restlessly  about,  his  beautiful  head  tossing,  his  pas- 
terns springing  with  every  step,  pliant  as  tempered 
steel. 

/^Jos6,"  she  called  to  a  lad  beyond  a  fence, 
" Where's  the  red  king?" 

"  The  SeQor  John,  he  rides  to  el  oeste  today." 

So.  The  boss  rode  west.  And  he  rode  Redstar, 
of  course. 

Well,  she  would  take  Redcloud — or  no — there 
was  Dawnlight  drowsing  in  the  sun,  belying  her 
name  and  her  nature  with  seeming  meekness.  Val 
caught  her  up  and  flung  a  saddle  on  her  shining 
back — and  the  vixen  spread  her  slim  legs,  drew  in 
a  deep  breath  and  lifted  her  spine  a  trifle,  ready  for 
something  when  the  cinches  should  tighten  up. 

But  Val  Hannon  was  her  father's  girl  in  her 
utter  lack  of  fear  of  horseflesh,  in  her  masterful 
spirit. 

Now  she  laughed  and  set  a  quick  knee  against  the 
mare's  ribs  and  jerked  the  latigo  with  a  practised 
hand. 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL         63 

'^  You  would,  would  you,  you  pretty  wildcat? '' 
she  said,  "  well — ^swell — swell  if  you  want  to !  " 

And  she  pushed  the  breath  out  of  Dawnlight's 
lungs  with  every  pull  of  the  strap. 

The  high-tempered  creature  switched  her  long 
tail  and  laid  her  pointed  ears  back  along  her  neck 
and  her  eyes  flashed,  but  Val  put  a  heavy  hand  to 
her  bit  and  set  her  back  with  a  jump. 

In  the  midst  of  the  action  the  girl  put  her  foot  to 
the  stirrup  and  went  up  like  a  cat.  Dawnlight 
screamed  and  flung  herself  sidewise,  shaking  her 
head,  but  Val  lifted  her  on  the  bit  and  came  down 
with  her  braided  quirt  across  the  shining  flanks — 
and  Dawnlight  steadied  like  a  lady,  prancing  out 
of  the  corral  on  all  four  feet,  properly.  This  was 
the  only  one  of  all  the  Red  Brood  who  needed  disci- 
pline. 

Once  out  of  the  yard  and  beyond  the  house  with 
the  open  plain  before  her  she  broke  into  instant 
flight  and  sailed  down  and  away  like  a  bird,  a  won- 
drous, easy  gait,  swift  and  light  and  sure,  that 
brought  a  smile  of  pleasure  to  her  rider's  face  and 
forgiveness  for  her  faults.  It  was  noon  and  the 
vast  spread  of  the  range  country  lay  clear  and 
sharp  beneath  the  light.  The  distant  mesas,  great, 
flat-topped,  straight-sided  remnants  of  a  prehistoric 
level,  some  of  them  a  mile  long  and  half  that  wide, 
stood  here  and  there  on  the  floor  of  the  plain,  mon- 
strous, imposing.  Bunch  grass,  mesquite,  with 
here  and  there  a  tall  cactus  spike,  grew  so  sparsely 
that  one  strange  to  the  country  might  marvel  how 


64  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

the  cattle  lived.  But  they  did  live,  huge  herds  of 
them,  and  waxed  fat,  were  rounded  up,  looked  over, 
the  young  ones  branded,  the  beef  cut  out  and  driven 
away  to  the  tiny  station  on  the  thin  line  of  steel 
that  linked  the  cattle  land  to  the  distant  outside 
world. 

Val  rode  down  between  the  weathered  monu- 
ments, left  Paradise  miles  to  the  north  and  west, 
crossed  the  Little  Antelope,  where  she  let  the  mare 
drink  deep  of  the  brackish  water,  and  came  up  out 
of  its  shallow  dip  between  the  scattered  cotton- 
woods  that  fringed  it. 

Before  her,  some  three  miles  off,  the  gaunt,  pale 
bulk  of  Eefugio  Mission  stood  boldly  out.  Val 
smiled  and  struck  her  heels  to  Dawnlight's  flanks 
and  rode  fast  toward  the  ancient  landmark.  Afar 
off  they  heard  her  coming,  for  much  of  this  land  was 
hollow  somewhere  beneath,  so  that  the  open 
stretches  were  like  a  mighty  sounding-board,  carry- 
ing the  long  roll  of  a  running  horse  to  ears  far  dis- 
tant. 

Father  Hillair^  stood  to  greet  her  in  the  gate,  as 
he  had  stood  to  greet  so  many,  but  few  comers  to 
Refugio  brought  with  them  the  joy  to  light  his 
kindly  face  that  shone  there  now. 

He  had  known  Val  Hannon  from  her  babyhood, 
had  seen  her  take  her  first  steps,  had  held  her  in  his 
arms  at  the  christening  font,  and  from  the  first 
wide,  grave  stare  of  her  dark  baby-eyes,  had  loved 
her  with  all  his  tender  heart.  He  had  heard  her 
small  sins,  had  taught  her  the  depth  and  sweet- 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL  65 

ness  of  religion  as  he  conceived  it,  and  she  was 
sweet  and  wholesome  as  a  flower  new-blown. 

But  she  was  daring  as  a  young  boy,  wild  in  her 
riding,  keen  for  the  open  and  had  little  of  the  pretty 
tricks  of  indoor  women. 

Now  she  flung  off  her  horse,  caught  the  father's 
hand,  stooped  impulsively  and  kissed  it,  then  shook 
it  like  a  man  with  a  strong  grip,  and  looked  up  in 
his  face  with  the  crinkling  about  her  handsome  eyes 
that  made  them  woman-soft  on  the  instant,  no  mat- 
ter how  wild  she  had  been  with  sun,  wind  and  speed 
a  second  before. 

Always  when  Val  dashed  up  like  this  Father  Hil- 
Iair6  thought  of  another  who  came  in  much  the 
same  way,  another  wild  rider,  but  who,  alas !  came 
usually  with  the  night  and  whose  name  did  not  pass 
the  padre's  lips. 

^^  Father  dear,''  said  Val,  "  how  are  you?  " 

"  Well,  my  daughter,"  he  answered,  "  and  happy 
in  my  humble  walks." 

"  Then  you've  been  getting  some  more  refugees," 
said  Val  with  conviction,  "  for  only  when  you  sling 
another  load  to  your  shoulder  do  you  speak  like 
that.  And  already  the  load  is  sky-high  and  ready 
to  topple.  You're  some  juggler,  padre/'  she  added 
fondly,  "to  always  keep  in  under.  How's  Jose- 
phina?" 

"  Excellent." 

"  And  Maria  and  her  baby?  " 

"  Not  so  well,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  The  cough,  it 
stays  with  her,  and  the  baby  pulls  her  down  and  she 


66  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

grieves  ever  for  the  worthless  one  who  left  her  to 
face  despair.'^ 

Val  clicked  a  pitying  tongue  and  turned  in  at  the 
gate  of  the  garden. 

Bonifacio,  without  being  called  this  time,  came 
eagerly  and  took  Dawnlight,  getting  as  reward  one 
fleeting  smile  from  the  girl  which  brought  a  sparkle 
to  his  dark  face,  for  this  Val  Hannon  was  beloved 
by  those  who  knew  her,  high  and  low  alike. 

"  I'll  come  back,  father,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  but 
first  I  must  go  and  see  Maria  and  Josephina  and 
the  new  refugees — for  I  know  I'll  find  some." 

And  she  went  swiftly  into  the  house  and  passing 
through  the  room  with  the  long  tables  and  the  pic- 
tured Christ,  leaned  in  the  door  to  the  kitchens. 

At  the  far  end  Josephina,  the  slim  elderly 
woman,  dark  as  a  berry,  who  had  been  house- 
keeper there  for  more  years  than  Val  could  remem- 
ber, exclaimed  softly  in  Spanish  and  came  forward 
to  pat  her  arm  and  smile  and  talk  swiftly  of  the 
doings  of  the  Mission  and  the  distant  rancho. 

Father  Hillair^  waited  patiently  for  a  long  hour, 
while  Val  went  through  the  labyrinth  of  rooms 
and  sat  on  the  sanded  walks  under  the  wasatcha 
trees  with  Maria's  baby  on  her  lap,  and  listened  to 
the  latest  tale  of  atrocities  across  the  Border 
whence  came  the  new  refugees. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  she  came  back  to  him,  car- 
rying her  hat  in  her  hand,  and  sat  by  the  table  in 
the  shade  and  visited  in  that  deep  communion 
which  attends  friends. 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL  67 

She  told  him  of  the  dance  to  be  in  Santa  Leandra, 
of  the  new  white  dress,  and  described  minutely  the 
red-heeled  shoes,  the  sash  and  the  way  the  rose  from 
the  old  bush  would  hang  behind  her  ear. 

The  priest  listened  gravely  and  with  as  much 
interest  as  though  she  discussed  the  year's  rain  and 
the  scant  crops. 

The  sun  went  down  the  heavens  and  the  won- 
drous colours  came  sifting  out  of  Infinitude,  and  at 
last  the  girl  rose  swiftly  and  called  for  Dawnlight. 

"  I  always  forget,  father,"  she  said,  "  how  the 
time  flies  when  I  am  here.  Dark  will  catch  me 
now." 

So  she  mounted  and  leaned  to  press  the  padre^s 
hand,  and  presently  she  was  gone,  down  across  the 
levels  toward  the  Little  Antelope,  a  streak  of  colour 
in  the  lovely  light,  and  Father  Hillair^  smiled 
as  he  watched  her.  There  was  never  a  sigh  in  his 
heart  for  her.  She  was  the  best  the  country  held, 
that  he  knew,  pure,  quick,  clean  of  heart  and  mind 
and  soul,  strong  with  courage,  tender  with  un- 
awakened  love,  the  most  admirably  fitted  creature 
he  had  ever  known  for  the  great  game  of  life. 

Nay — ^harm  would  leave  Val  Hannon  far  and 
bye. 

Goodness,  calm,  joy,  these  must  be  her  portion  if 
there  was  any  truth  in  the  old  belief  that  virtue 
prospered,  and  Father  Hillair^  was  at  peace  for 
her. 

She  was  the  shining  star  of  his  service,  the  thing 
that  he  had  helped  to  mould  and  make,  and  he  was 


$8  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

proud  of  her  as  so  humble  a  man  might  be  of  his 
handiwork.  In  his  pride  he  gave  full  credit  to  the 
sweet  and  gentle  nature  of  Belle  Hannon  in  its  in- 
fluence upon  her — but  he  gave  no  thought  to  that 
strong  man,  her  father. 

John  Hannon  and  Father  Hillair^  had  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes  for  years  with  a  veiled  under- 
standing that  never  passed  their  lips  in  question  or 
answer. 

"  Dawnlight,  my  beauty,"  said  Val  as  they 
stretched  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  Antelope, 
"  we'll  have  to  run  if  we  make  it  home  by  good  dark. 
Don't  think  we  will  at  that." 

The  racer  needed  no  further  urge.  The  rein  laid 
loose  on  her  neck  was  like  a  flame  to  tow.  She 
dropped  her  slim  loins,  laid  her  long  neck  out  in  a 
straight  line  with  her  back,  her  nose  almost  in  line, 
and  gathering  her  shining  hoofs  beneath  her  began 
to  drum  such  music  from  the  plain  as  set  Val  smil- 
ing with  the  joy  in  speed  that  always  possessed  her 
when  the  Red  Brood  ran. 

For  a  long  time  Dawnlight  did  not  change  the 
humming  note  of  her  stride,  while  the  levels  raced 
away  beneath  her  and  the  purple  and  amethyst  and 
lavender  came  sifting  down  through  the  gold  of  the 
late  light,  and  the  soft  wind  hummed  by,  but  pres- 
ently she  slowed  and,  coming  down  to  a  trot,  swung 
her  graceful  feet  with  a  neat  precision.  Far  ahead 
Arroyo  Pecos,  deep  and  dark  and  fringed  with  a 
thick  growth  of  low  bushes,  cut  across  the  land. 

Night  was  coming  swiftly. 


THE  CRY  OF  A  DESERT  OWL  69 

The  rose  and  lavender  gave  place  to  cool  blue 
shadows,  the  sun  went  down  behind  the  Broken 
Buttes  far,  far  over  to  the  west,  and  twilight  set  in. 
Stars  came  out  on  the  pale  sky  and  Val  carried  her 
hat  in  her  hand,  while  Dawnlight,  eager  for  home 
and  her  kind,  mended  her  pace  to  a  little  lope. 

Long  before  they  made  Arroyo  Pecos  it  was 
dark,  the  soft  warm  dark  of  the  half -desert  country. 

Where  the  dim  trail  dipped  down  the  steep  banks 
of  the  cut  and  the  shadows  were  darkest.  Dawn- 
light  snorted  and  halted,  to  pound  on  the  brink 
with  her  sharp  hoofs. 

"  What  ails  you?  "  said  Val  aloud,  "  afraid  of  a 
little  dark?    Go  on.'^ 

And  the  mare  went,  though  with  deep  breaths  of 
suspicion  that  whistled  in  the  night.  Down  and 
across  and  up  they  went,  swiftly,  and  were  all  but 
on  the  levels  again,  when  Val  jumped  in  her  sad- 
dle, for  a  desert  owl  cried  almost  in  her  ear  from 
the  thick  bushes  on  her  left— cried  and  waited  and 
cried  again,  to  be  answered  far  up  the  arroyo,  and 
to  be  still. 

Dawnlight  raced  away  toward  the  distant  sanctu- 
ary of  Paradise,  and  the  girl  in  her  saddle  never 
knew  that  the  owl  had  voiced  a  warning,  nor  that, 
an  hour  later,  two  men  rode  out  of  Arroyo  Pecos  by 
different  ways,  one,  a  huge,  square  figure  of  a  man 
on  a  swift  and  heavy  horse,  toward  the  south,  the 
other  to  the  north. 

Never  knew  that,  had  she  been  below  the  rim  of 
the  cut,  so  that  she  might  look  up  against  the 


70  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

stars,  she  would  have  known  the  great  red  horse 
that  heaved  his  massive  withers  over  the  brink  with 
ease  and  power  for  Eedstar  the  matchless — nor  the 
man  in  his  saddle  for  the  Boss  of  Paradise. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LBANDRA 

THE  glorious  Fourth  came  up  across  the  range- 
land  as  all  Fourths  should,  clear,  bright, 
warm  with  sun  and  cool  with  a  little  wind 
that  would  soon  die  and  leave  heat  and  dust  to  rule. 

At  Paradise  a  small  tragedy  had  been  enacted, 
for  Redcloud  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  had  been 
left  behind  when  the  Red  Brood  went  away  to  run. 
'Alone  in  his  paddock  the  old  racer  ran  this  way  and 
that  along  the  fence,  his  head  high  on  his  lifted 
neck,  his  eager  eyes  straining  into  the  distance 
toward  the  north  and  west  where  yesterday  at  dusk 
those  other  favoured  ones  had  been  led  away,  each 
beside  a  leading  horse,  their  red  coats  shining  in 
circles  from  much  rubbing,  their  neat  hoofs  danc- 
ing. For  the  first  time  the  stallion  had  been  ad- 
judged unfit  to  go— to  go  on  a  halter,  with  a  rider 
in  attendance. 

He  was  to  go  indeed,  though  in  another  capacity, 
for  Val  Hannon's  heart  was  sore  for  him  and  she 
groomed  him  with  her  own  hands,  combed  his  flow- 
ing mane  and  tail,  and  put  upon  Mm  the  splendid 
silver-mounted  bridle  that  was  the  Redstarts  own. 

"  It's  a  shame,''  she  said  aloud  as  her  father 
passed  the  corral,  "  after  all  he's  won  for  you,  dad. 
You  should  have  let  him  go  and  learn  his  defeat 

71 


72  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

slowly — ^with  the  others  finishing  ahead — not  this 
way  with  his  heart  breaking." 

"  No,"  said  John  Hannon,  sharply,  ''  Redeloud's 
done.  There's  nothing  goes  to  the  running  from 
Paradise  but  what's  th'  best — what  can  make 
good." 

^^  Wrong,"  said  Val,  "the  Redstar's  the  best — 
and  he  don't  go." 

John  Hannon  did  not  answer  and  Dirk  came  out 
with  a  cow  pony  ready  to  ride  the  twenty  miles  to 
Santa  Leandra  with  her,  and  Val  must  run  into  the 
house  to  get  the  neat  flat  package  that  held  her 
finery  and  was  to  be  tied  behind  Dirk's  saddle,  to 
kiss  her  mother  and  push  Fanita  laughing  into  a 
corner.  The  sun  was  coming  up  on  the  peaks  of  the 
Blind  Trail  Hills,  it  was  Fourth  of  July  and  she 
was  young. 

So  presently  she  rode  out  of  the  corral  on  Red- 
cloud,  her  dark  eyes  shining  and  with  roses  in  her 
dusky  cheeks — and  Dirk  beside  her  rested  adoring 
eyes  upon  her. 

As  they  turned  away  toward  the  north  Val 
turned  in  her  saddle,  halted,  for  from  far  down  in 
a  stretching  field  there  came,  clear  on  the  morning 
air,  a  keen  and  ringing  call — the  whinnying  cry  of 
a  horse  to  his  beloved — and  Redstar  stood,  a  spot 
of  colour  on  the  green,  his  head  high,  his  nostrils 
blowing,  his  soft  eyes  watching  eagerly. 

The  girl  rose  in  her  stirrups  and,  cupping  her 
hands  to  her  lips,  whistled  the  two  keen  notes, 
though  this  time  they  were  reversed — the  first  one 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  73 

falling,  the  second  rising.  This  was  not  ''  Come  " 
but  "  Good-bye/' — and  they  held  more  portent  than 
she  knew. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  the  joy  of  a  ride  at  dawn, 
the  visit  to  the  town,  which  was  a  rare  experience 
to  her,  the  dance  and  the  races. 

Santa  Leandra  was  gay  with  life.  Its  straggling 
street  was  bright  with  women  in  their  cheap  finery, 
with  Indians  in  bright  coloured  blankets,  with 
youths  and  maidens  walking  together  and  with  un- 
counted children  and  dogs. 

At  HunnewelFs  the  tables  were  crowded  full  of 
players  and  Hunnewell  himself,  genial,  perspiring, 
mopped  up  his  ancient  bar  before  a  changing  but 
constant  line  of  men  in  chaps  and  sombreros. 

The  punchers  were  in  from  all  points  of  the  com- 
pass. They  had  ridden  the  range  for  months  with 
little  diversion,  had  handled  rope  and  branding- 
iron,  had  saddled  their  untamed  cayuses  in  frost 
and  wind  and  sandstorm,  and  now  they  were  en- 
titled to  the  full  measure  of  merrymaking,  and  out 
to  get  it. 

Wide  hats,  adorned  with  silver  coins,  sat  rak- 
ishly  on  arrogant  heads,  silver-spotted  belts  and 
riding  cuffs  were  in  evidence  everywhere,  and  poor 
indeed  was  the  cowboy  who  could  not  sport  a  fancy 
pair  of  chaps,  carved  spurs  and  flaming  red,  pink 
or  green  ''  sleeve-histers."  3 

They  teetered  about  on  their  high  heels,  rode  up 
and  down  the  street  on  prancing  horses,  discussed 
the  coming  races  and  laid  bets  on  this  horse  or 


U  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

that.  Down  at  the  south  end  of  town  the  horses 
that  were  to  run  were  gathered  in  small  corrals,  all 
with  their  people  in  close  attendance,  and  a  con- 
stant stream  of  observers  came  and  went. 

^^  Th'  Hannon  bunch  looks  fit  this  year,  an'  no 
mistake,''  said  a  man  from  over  by  the  Broken 
Buttes,  "but  Where's  th'  old  stallion?" 

"  Ain't  runnin'  him,"  answered  Briston,  shortly. 

"  No?  What  fur?  'Fraid  o'  Olendenning's  sil- 
ver? " 

"  'Fraid  o'  n©thin',"  said  the  foreman,  pointedly, 
'^  simply  ain't  runnin'  him  this  year." 

Olendenning's  silver  horse.  Dollar,  was  good  and 
sufficient  cause  for  fear  as  he  squealed  in  his  pen 
and  watched  the  rest  with  wild  dark  eyes,  and  so 
was  the  young  black  mare,  Silkskin,  bone's  bone 
and  blood's  blood  of  that  once  famous  runner,  Live 
Ooal  from  the  Bar-Star  beyond  the  Broken  Buttes. 
Quinlan  had  never  forgiven  Redcloud  for  that  far- 
past  defeat,  nor  his  owner  either. 

Val  and  Dirk  came  into  town  a  little  before  noon 
and  Eedcloud  pranced  and  tossed  his  head,  think- 
ing it  was  old  times  again  and  perhaps  visioning 
the  orgy  of  running  to  come. 

The  girl's  dark  eyes  were  alight  with  pleasure  as 
she  took  in  the  brilliant  crowds,  and  they  crinkled 
joyously  when  the  Texas  boy  spied  her  and  came 
swinging  gracefully  up  to  greet  her  with  a  hand  at 
his  hat-brim.  Dirk  frowned,  for  all  Paradise  was 
jealous  of  its  sovereign. 

"  I'll  be  boun' ! "  said  the  stranger  in  his  soft 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  75 

drawl,  "You  did  get  heyh,  Miss  Val!  I  ben  a- 
waitin'  an'  watchin'  fer  you  sence  nine  o'clock. 
Got  t'  speak  fer  some  dances  ahead,  an'  I  so  do, 
right  this  minnit.  Y'all  won't  forget  me,  come 
night?  " 

"  Sure  won't,  Texas,"  promised  the  girl  warmly, 
"  I've  been  counting  on  dancing  with  you  myself — 
for  your  feet  are  sure  like  thistle  floss,  boy,  and  no 
mistake." 

And  she  passed  on  to  the  corrals  where  Briston 
stood  to  take  the  horses.  Rosy  Porter  and  Perly 
Jacks  and  Siff  O'Neil,  all  riders  for  Paradise, 
crowded  around  her. 

"  Val,"  said  Perly,  "  how  you  goin'  to  divide  th' 
day?    Who's  goin'  to  walk  about  with  you  first?  " 

"  Any  way  suits  you,  boys.    Toss  jacks,  I  guess." 

And  the  cowboys  drew  a  line  on  a  convenient 
post  and  proceeded  gravely  to  throw  their  jack- 
knives  at  it.  Perly  and  SiflE  tied^  the  others  fell 
out,  and  the  honour  at  last  fell  to  the  former,  who 
promptly  cocked  his  broad  hat  on  his  curly  yellow 
head,  pushed  his  studded  belt  down  about  his  slen- 
der hips,  patted  the  knot  of  his  gay  kerchief,  and 
went  off  beside  her,  proud  as  Lucifer  to  swagger 
about  Santa  Leandra  with  Val  Hannon,  the  little- 
known  but  much-stared-at  beauty  girl  of  the  bunch- 
grass  country. 

Ah,  Fourth  of  July  when  one  is  young  and  lives 
far  and  bye  from  civilization ! 

They  sauntered  up  the  straggling  street  and 
gazed  happily  and  interestedly  at  all  they  met;,  and 


76  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Val  remembered  that  she  had  not  warned  the  boys 
to  be  careful  of  that  package  on  Dirk's  saddle  and 
must  needs  rush  back  to  the  corrals,  her  new  rid- 
ing skirt  swishing  at  her  heels,  to  tell  them  to  get 
her  a  room  at  the  Hudson  House  and  put  it  away 
therein  to  await  the  evening  and  the  dance. 

She  was  gay  as  an  Indian  herself  in  her  scarlet 
silk  waist,  black  tie  and  tan  riding  skirt,  which 
same  outfit  she  would  wear  all  day,  and  she  was 
happy  as  a  lark. 

She  encountered  some  few  people  that  she  knew, 
a  girl  from  a  ranch  far  north,  several  cowboys,  and 
lastly  Boyce  Clendenning,  handsome  in  his  heavy 
blond  way  and  lazily  interested  in  her.  He  was 
far  more  interested  in  this  quick  dark  girl  than 
was  apparent  on  the  surface. 

"  Will  you  eat  dinner  with  me,  Val? ''  he  wanted 
to  know  abruptly,  standing  before  her  in  the  beaten 
dust  of  the  trampled  street — and  Perly  flushed  red 
beneath  his  golden  tan. 

The  boy  bit  his  lip  and  waife 

Val — their  Val — eat  dinner  with  any  one  beside 
the  bunch  from  Paradise?  It  would  be  a  sacri- 
lege, a  humiliation  and  a  cause  for  battle !  Dinner 
under  the  tall  elms  in  the  grove  at  the  north  end  of 
town  where  the  barbecued  beef,  pork  and  mutton 
scented  all  the  air,  and  the  long  board  tables  were 
spread  for  all  and  sundry,  was  an  institution  of  the 
rangeland  Fourth.  She  who  sat  down  thereto  with 
any  man  as  good  as  belonged  to  him  all  day — for 
the  games,  the  races  and  the  dance  at  night. 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  77 

It  was  significant  of  Paradise  that  not  one 
puncher  sought  him  a  girl,  that  all  would  attend  in 
a  body  with  John  Hannon's  daughter  in  their 
midst,  proud  of  her  beauty,  alert  to  every  word  or 
look — all,  that  was,  save  Tom  Briston,  whose  first, 
last  and  only  care  was  the  five  red  horses  in  his 
charge. 

Now  Val  looked  Clendenning  over  coolly  and 
shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said,  softening  her  refusal  with  a 
smile,  "  I've  got  my  partners — five  of  them." 

Perly  reached  up  an  eloquent  hand  and  pushed 
his  hat  forward  from  behind. 

"  Nice  day,"  he  observed  pensively. 

Clendenning  did  not  flush  nor  change  the  steady 
gaze  of  his  blue  eyes. 

^^ Lucky  five,"  he  said  gently,  "suppose  you'll 
give  me  a  dance  or  two  then — after  the  five?  " 

"  You  bet,"  said  Val. 

"  Say,  Val,"  said  Perly  when  they  were  beyond 
earshot,  "that  Boyce  Clendenning's  got  th'  nerve 
of  a  dozen  bobcats,  ain't  he?  " 

"  Sure  has,"  said  Val  with  conviction. 

Dinner  took  an  hour — and  suffice  it  to  say  in 
passing,  that  every  one  from  Paradise  did  it  full 
justice.  Shortly  after  the  crowds  began  to  gravi- 
tate, as  by  common  impulse,  toward  the  southern 
end  of  the  town  where  the  open  plains  came  up 
abruptly,  where  the  corrals  stood  and  where  the 
"  race  track  "  lay.    This  was  simply  a  long  level 


/* 


78  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

stretch,  flat  as  one's  palm  and  soft  with  trodden 
loam,  the  most  natural  and  ideal  track  in  the  world. 

There  was  no  fence  about  it  and  the  gay  crowds 
strung  out  along  its  entire  length.  It  fell  to  Siff  to 
look  out  for  Val,  and  never  did  man  accept  honour 
more  delightedly.  Siflf  was  young  and  full  of  laugh- 
ter, vain  as  any  O'Neil  before  him  had  ever  been, 
and  they  sauntered  halfway  down  the  track,  craned 
their  young  necks  for  a  good  vantage  for  both  start 
and  finish  and  sat  down  on  the  naked  earth  as  sim- 
ply as  the  squaw  a  rod  beyond. 

"  I  say,  Siff,"  said  Val,  eagerly,  "  the  horses  do 
look  fine.    They'll  run  away  from  this  bunch  easy." 

''  Fine's  th'  word,  but  they  sure  got  a  bunch  t' 
run  from  this  year.  Last  year  it  was  Brightstone 
Kit,  an'  th'  glass-eyed  pinto  that  th'  Injuns  brought 
in  from  th'  hills,  an'  th'  bay  horse  from  nobody- 
knew-where  that  they  said  belonged  to  th'  Black 
Eustler.  They  was  not  so  bad,  either,  'petic'lar  that 
there  last.  But  this  time  it's  some  different.  That 
there  Silkskin,  now,  she's  some  horse,  I  stake  my 
money !    She's  some  baby !  " 

"  Bah !  "  said  Val,  hotly,  "  I'm  some  surprised 
that  any  one  from  Paradise  could  look  at  that  black 
skate  twice  when  the  Bed  Brood's  in.  What  do  you 
think  this  track'll  look  like  when  Lightning  comes 
running  down  it  like  an  engine?  We  can't  say  yet 
about  Firebrand  and  The  Flame,  though  you  know 
how  good  they  are  at  home.  If  only  Dawnlight'U 
be  a  lady,  now " 

But  there  was  a  dust  and  the  shine  of  horses  at 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  79 

the  track's  head  and  Val  was  on  her  feet  instantly, 
her  sentence  forgotten.  Bay,  brown,  sorrel,  five 
horses  pranced  at  the  starting  line.  Closing  her 
eyes  to  slits  to  sharpen  their  vision  she  descried 
Dawnlight  ramping  on  her  bit  with  Perly  trying  to 
quiet  her. 

Three  times  they  made  false  start.  The  fourth 
they  were  away  and  the  entire  human  fringe  edged 
in  on  the  track  to  watch  them  come. 

"Hi!    Yi!    Yi!'' 

The  yells  yipped  down  the  track  in  a  wave  as  the 
beautiful  creatures  lay  down  to  earth  and  ran  in 
pure  joy  of  the  open,  the  light  and  their  own  free 
power  and  speed. 

Dawnlight  was  the  only  well-known  horse  in  this 
heat,  the  others  being  newcomers  from  up  north. 
For  a  time  they  were  well  bunched  and  Val  held  her 
breath.  Then  the  red  mare,  stretching  out  like  a 
shaft  of  light,  began  to  forge  ahead. 

''  Running  away !  '^  cried  Val,  "  Coming !  Com- 
ing!'^ 

"  Wait!  ^'  warned  Siff  with  an  anxious  frown. 

And  almost  on  the  word  Dawnlight  threw  up  her 
head,  broke  and  pitched  off  to  one  side,  wild  and 
ugly  as  a  demon. 

"  Damn ! ''  cried  the  cowboy  frankly. 

The  big  brown  gelding  came  running  in  far 
ahead. 

Twice  in  the  three  heats  that  made  the  race 
Dawnlight  was  to  ramp  out  and  be  disqualified. 


80  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

"  Dad  will  never  let  her  run  again  when  he  hears 
this/'  said  Val,  "  and  I  don't  blame  him,  either." 

But  the  mare  was  forgotten,  for  the  first  heat  of 
the  next  race  was  coming  on  and  they  could  see  the 
brilliant  shine  of  Firebrand  and  The  Flame,  pretty, 
nervous  youngsters,  among  the  darker  horses.  Silt- 
skin  was  there,  and  two  other  blacks  and  a  rangy 
Indian  claybank,  but  the  flame-red  colts  with  their 
creamy  manes  and  tails  took  the  eyes  of  all  behold- 
ers. They  were  gentlemen,  too,  minding  their  or- 
ders and  sweating  with  nervousness — eager  as  wind 
to  be  gone. 

And  when  they  were  gone,  at  last — ^gone  with  an 
even  start,  neck  and  neck  with  Silkskin  and  the 
claybank,  they  ran  like  wind  indeed — light  on  their 
drumming  feet,  skimming  the  earth  like  swallows. 

"  Lord !  Lord !  "  said  Val,  softly,  her  eyes  like 
stars,  "  you  darlings !    You  blessed  darlings !  " 

For  Silkskin  was  drawing  away  from  the  rest  like 
the  centre  of  a  rising  stream — and  the  tossing 
cream  crests  were  flanking  her  on  either  side! 

Silkskin  was  far  and  bye  the  best — coming  true 
to  the  predictions  for  her — and  the  younglings  from 
Paradise  were  keeping  pace  with  her  faithfully. 

Farther  and  farther  stretched  the  distance  be- 
tween the  three  and  those  behind — they  flashed  by 
Val  and  Siff  and  shot  under  the  wire  nose  and  nose 
and  nose! 

The  fringes  surged  into  the  track  after  them  and 
yelled  like  mad. 

"  Some  bosses !  '^ 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  81 

^'  Something  new  in  oF  Santa  Leandra !  " 

''  Good  enough  t'  run  with  Dollar! " 

While  Dirk  walked  the  colts  about  and  the  hum 
of  voices  grew  like  swarming  bees,  the  first  heat  of 
the  day's  big  race  was  on.  This  comprised  Dollar, 
the  famous  silver;  a  dark  horse  brought  in  from 
somewhere  at  the  last  moment,  though  it  had  been 
duly  entered ;  and  Lightning. 

Sane,  gentle,  alert  Lightning  strode  to  the  start 
and  waited  like  the  gentleman  he  was,  with  Rosy 
on  his  back. 

Val  could  see  the  shine  of  his  red  coat  between 
the  light  of  Dollar  and  the  shadow  of  the  stranger. 
She  could  hear  the  voices  betting  and  appraising 
and  knew  that  he  was  dividing  the  money  with 
Clendenning's  horse. 

There  was  little  jockey  work  this  time,  for  these 
horses  were  old  to  this  game  and  it  was  only  a  mat- 
ter of  moments  until  they  were  away  and  coming 
steadily  down  the  stretch.  \ 

Ah!    This  was  running!        V 

Well  matched  all  three,  they  hummed  down  the 
track  evenly  for  the  first  quarter.  Their  slim  legs 
were  a  blur  beneath  them,  their  necks  were  a 
straight  line,  their  eager  faces  keen  as  flame  on  a 
night  sky. 

Dollar  was  running  as  he  could  run,  a  machine, 
steady,  true,  perfect,  keyed  to  a  rising  note.  He 
set  the  pace  and  kept  it  lifting,  gaining,  gaining  in 
speed  with  every  jump.  And  at  his  side  Lightning 
ran,  but  differently.     If  Dollar  was  a  machine, 


82  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Lightning  was  a  living,  breathing,  aspiring  bundle 
of  nerves  and  brains.  Like  a  wind,  like  a  fire  in 
grass,  as  they  said  of  the  Red  Brood  always,  he 
came  down  the  track,  instinct  with  life. 

Slowly  the  strange  horse  fell  behind  and  the  two 
others  began  to  run  away  from  him.  For  another 
quarter  they  drummed  down  together,  neck  and 
neck,  flashing  eyes  by  flashing  eyes. 

And  then  Rosy  lay  down  on  Lightning's  neck 
and  reached  a  hand  caressingly  out  along  his  cheek. 

"  Come  on !  Come !  "  he  yelled — and  the  red 
horse  came ! 

Ah!  There  was  ^^somethin'  by-ordinary  in  that 
Lightnin'  horse,"  as  his  master  had  said  once. 

Now,  at  his  rider's  call  he  caught  a  great  breath 
into  his  lungs,  dropped  his  slim  belly  down  to 
mother  earth — and  simply  ran  away  from  Dollar, 
the  best  horse  in  the  range  country  hitherto. 

Far  out  ahead  he  poked  his  nose  under  the  wire — 
and  came  down  from  his  speed  as  quickly  as  he 
could,  a  gentleman  always. 

The  crowds  were  yelling  and  Val  wiped  a  hand 
across  her  misty  eyes. 

''  Siff,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "  we  don't  want  Red- 
star  to  run!  Not  ever!  Lightning's  good  enough 
for  us ! " 

With  tingling  delight  the  girl  watched  the 
other  heats  of  the  rest  of  the  races,  and  when  the 
great  day  was  over  Dawnlight  was  in  disgrace  for- 
ever, the  younglings  had  won  a  name  by  finishing 
two  heats  out  of  three  nose  and  nose  with  Silkskin, 


THE  FOURTH  AT  SANTA  LEANDRA  83 

while  nothing  in  the  entries  had  kept  in  sight  of 
Lightning. 

"  It's  been  a  great  day,"  she  said  happily  as  she 
walked  through  the  dust  with  Siff  down  to  the  cor- 
rals to  talk  it  all  over  with  the  boys,  and  to  pet  the 
shining  beauties,  one  by  one. 

^'  Dawnlight,  poor  girl,''  she  said  pityingly, 
^'  why  is  it  that  you  are  cursed  with  such  a  vile 
temper?  " 

"  She's  cussed  with  devilment ! "  said  Perly, 
viciously,  for  he  was  sore  to  the  heart  with  the 
mare's  ruin.  Secretly  Perly  loved  the  uncertain 
vixen  above  all  the  Red  Brood  and  had  hoped  great 
things  from  today.  Now  they  were  dead  dreams, 
indeed,  and  he  was  sore,  sore. 

But  Briston  took  them  all,  victor  and  vanquished 
alike,  into  the  shelter  of  his  wise  care  and  dusk 
found  them  blanketed  and  close-herded  in  their 
corral,  their  names,  and  John  Hannon's,  on  the 
lips  of  all  the  rangeland. 

Once  more  had  the  Boss  of  Paradise  proved  his 
passion  for  "  the  best  in  its  line." 

With  the  coming  of  twilight  Val  vanished  from 
Perly's  watchful  eyes  into  the  recesses  of  the  Hud- 
son House  to  prink  and  preen  with  the  girl  from  up 
north,  to  emerge  with  the  first  strumming  of  the 
fiddles  across  the  road  at  Hunnewell's,  sweet  as  a 
dark  flower  in  her  white  dress  with  the  red  sash, 
the  Spanish  shoes,  the  rose  behind  her  ear — which 
same  big  bud  had  ridden  wrapped  in  wet  cotton  in 
a  little  wooden  box  in  the  bundle — and  with  the 


84  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

red  feather  fan  hung  to  her  brown  wrist  by  a  rib- 
bon. 

In  the  middle  of  the  bunch  from  Paradise — all 
save  Dirk  whose  first  watch  it  was  at  the  corrals — 
she  entered  the  great  room  of  the  store  where  every- 
thing movable — save  and  except  the  bar — had  been 
removed,  and  she  was  proud  as  any  queen  riding 
between  her  loyal  subjects — proud  with  the  pride 
of  Paradise. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  RUSTLER^S  HAND 

HUNNEWELL'S  store  had  been  cleaned  and 
decorated  for  the  occasion.  The  erstwhile 
dim  windows  shone  clear,  the  worn  floor 
had  been  swept  and  smoothed  with  sand  and  water, 
while  from  the  smoky  rafters  hung  yards  and  yards 
of  ancient  bunting  which  had  seen  many  a  Fourth. 
Benches  had  been  placed  along  the  walls  and  on 
them  bloomed  a  gay  border  of  sturdy  rangeland 
flowers,  matron,  maid  and  comely  half-breed,  with 
here  and  there  a  full-blood  squaw  frankly  wrapped 
in  her  blanket,  and  all  were  decked  in  their  best. 
All  would  dance,  too,  or  nearly  all,  for  this  was  a 
land  of  few  distinctions. 

In  the  northeast  corner  a  platform  had  been 
erected  and  on  it  sat  two  men,  their  fiddles  pressed 
to  their  shoulders,  or  held  on  their  knees  while  they 
tightened  and  picked  judicially  at  the  whanging 
strings. 

One  was  a  young  chap  from  up  along  the  river, 
the  other  Doc  Tackert,  weazened,  old,  spry  as  a 
kitten  and  such  a  wizard  with  bow  and  catgut  that 
he  was  known  af^r  with  a  shining  fame.  The  hum 
and  whisper  of  a  gathering  crowd  was  to  him  like 
smoke  to  a  war-horse,  an  excitement,  an  inspiration 
and  an  intoxicant. 

85 


86  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

Now  he  tucked  his  instrument  beneath  his  wrin- 
kled chin,  flourished  his  bow,  began  to  pat  with  his 
cowhide  boot  in  exact  and  perfect  time,  and  swept 
forth  in  some  rousing  tune  of  the  time  and  place. 

There  was  a  surge  of  cowboys  across  the  floor,  a 
great  bowing,  a  rustle  of  rising  women,  and  the 
voice  of  the  caller  cutting  high  above  the  music. 

"  Git  yore  pardners ! '' 

Hunnewell's  was  a  large  structure.  On  the 
cleared  floor  four  sets  could  dance  with  ease  at 
once.  In  a  twinkling,  it  seemed,  these  were  formed, 
all  in  their  places,  all  orderly  and  waiting  for  the 
word  to  begin. 

A  garden  of  butterflies,  a  close  of  variegated 
flowers,  a  web  of  colour,  was  Hunnewell's  floor  that 
night.  Cowboys  in  gay  silk  shirts,  studded  belts, 
corduroys  and  soft  "  store ''  shoes,  led  out  girls  and 
women  in  all  the  tints  of  the  rainbow. 

"  S'lute  yer  pardner ! '' 

The  web  sank  and  rose  in  billows  with  the  bow- 
ing heads. 

"  Lead  th'  lady  an'  shun  th'. gent!  " 

Hands  reached  for  hands  like  scuttering  leaves 
in  a  wind. 

"  Back  to  th'  place  from  whar  ye  went !  " 

The  web  broke  and  moved,  swift,  scintillant,  gay, 
a  mass  of  swishing  skirts,  of  slipping  feet,  of  happy 
eyes  of  laughter  and  of  light,  and  the  dance  was  in 
full  swing. 

In  the  thick  of  it  moved  Val  Hannon,  sweet,  smil- 
ing, her  dark  cheeks  flushed  like  the  sunsets  on  the 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  87 

mesaSy  her  dark  eyes  sparkling  like  harbour  lights, 
her  filmy  ruffles  flying,  her  swift  feet  in  their  vanity 
of  Spanish  shoes  with  the  red  heels  slipping  light 
as  thistledown  in  the  mazes  of  the  figures.  Oppo- 
site her  danced  Briston,  whose  place  and  honour  it 
was  to  have  the  first  dance  by  reason  of  his  stand- 
ing at  Paradise.  The  foreman  was  nearing  the 
forty  mark  in  years,  but  he  was  a  handsome  figure 
of  a  man,  slim-hipped,  tall,  easy  as  a  youth  and  he 
had  danced  before  Val  was  born. 

He  had  taught  the  girl  her  first  steps,  and  they 
met,  swung,  parted  and  bowed  with  perfect 
rhythm  and  accord.  So  beautifully  did  they  step 
together  that,  in  a  land  whose  people  danced  from 
babyhood,  they  drew  attention  and  admiring  com- 
ment. 

^'  Who's  th'  big  girl  in  th'  red  sash?  "  a  blond  boy 
wanted  to  know  of  Perly.  ^'  My  aunt  Maria!  but  she 
can  swing  them  pretty  feet !  " 

"That's  Miss  Val  Hannon,''  said  Perly,  stiffly, 
"  from  Paradise  Ranch.'' 

"Oh!  Th'  hell  you  say!"  said  the  boy  softly, 
round-eyed,  "  I've  heard  of  her  a  lot.    Know  her?  " 

"  Ought  to,"  answered  Perly,  softening  but  pride- 
ful,  "  ride  f er  Paradise." 

"  Oh !  Interduce  a  feller?  " 

"  Sure,"  Perly  flicked  an  imaginary  speck  from 
his  immaculate  pink  silk  sleeve,  "  after  we've  all 
danced  with  her.  There's  five  of  us  an'  we  always 
come  first  with  Val." 

The  boy  was  properly  impressed  but  he  did  not 


88  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

fail  to  haunt  Perly  until,  later  in  the  night,  he  got 
the  coveted  dance. 

As  Val  wove  in  and  out  among  the  dancers  her 
keen  eyes  were  taking  in  all  there  was  to  see — the 
dresses  of  the  women,  the  good  dancers  among  the 
men,  the  prettiest  girls. 

And  so  it  was  that  when  the  "  square  "  was  done 
and  she  was  drifting  around  the  hall  with  Rosy  in 
a  waltz,  she  looked  down  into  the  upturned  small 
face  of  a  girl  so  dark,  so  brilliant  of  eye  and  cheek, 
so  vital,  that  she  turned  her  head  and  gazed  after 
her  in  w'onder. 

Like  a  flame,  like  a  flower,  like  something  full- 
charged  with  life  and  beauty,  Lolo  Sanchez  swept 
and  drifted  this  way  and  that,  brilliant  as  fire  in 
her  scarlet  and  black,  and  she,  too,  wore  a  deep  red 
rose  behind  her  little  ear.  For  some  unaccountable 
reason,  half  unconsciously,  Val  Hannon  raised  a 
hand  a  little  later  and  pulling  the  bud  from  her  own 
dark  hair,  dropped  it  unseen  in  a  corner. 

A  polka  followed  the  waltz,  and  a  schottische 
the  polka,  and  once  more  a  square  dance,  and  Val 
parcelled  them  painstakingly  among  her  own  cohort 
— after  which  the  Texas  boy  was  promptly  at  her 
elbow  with  his  soft  eyes  and  his  softer  voice. 

"  Ef  I  might  make  so  bold,  Miss  Val?  "  he  insinu- 
ated gently,  holding  out  an  arm  with'  an  elaborate 
crook. 

And  Val,  delighted,  thrilling  with  the  joy  of 
youth  and  the  charm  of  the  stranger,  swung  out 
with  him  in  another  waltz. 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  89 

Perly  and  Rosy  and  Siff  and  Dirk,  all  in  the  full 
tide  of  the  celebration,  each  had  him  a  lady  and 
"  went  to  it ''  with  the  vigour  stored  from  six 
months'  hard  work  on  the  range.  Not  since  the 
Christmas  "  doings ''  had  they  shaken  a  foot,  and 
they  made  up  for  lost  time.  But  though  they 
tapped  their  high  heels  with  the  best  of  them,  cut 
pigeon  wings  on  the  corners,  and  made  gay  love  to 
this  girl  and  that  after  the  happy  fashion  of  their 
kind,  it  was  a  noticeable  fact  that  not  one  rider 
from  Paradise  frequented  the  long  bar  set  well  back 
at  the  side. 

Rosy  and  SifE  were  known  to  "  cut  it  high,  wide 
and  handsome''  upon  occasion,  and  neither  Perly 
nor  Dirk  were  saints,  but  when  John  Hannon  sent 
his  daughter  forth  in  their  midst  they  neither 
looked  at,  smelled  nor  tasted  the  customary  re- 
freshment of  the  region. 

After  the  first  number  Briston  had  gone  back  to 
the  horses  and  sent  Dirk  to  the  merrymaking.  The 
boy  had  protested  but  the  foreman  pushed  him  out 
with  a  friendly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Go  on — go  on — don't  try  t'  tell  me  you'd  jus' 
as  soon  stand  guard  with  the  ponies.  Don't  I  know 
how  your  feet  are  itchin'? "  And  the  speaker 
grinned  with  memories  of  fifteen  years  agone. 

So  the  summer  night  waxed  toward  midnight, 
dark  with  black  velvet  sky,  soft  with  a  million 
stars,  and  Santa  Leandra  danced  the  hours  away. 
The  town  was  full  of  horses  tied  to  every  tree  and 
hitchrack^  waiting  with  the  patience  of  the  plains 


90  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

breed  for  the  masters  who  were  ever  prone  to 
tarry. 

^' Swing  yore  pardners!"  came  the  cry  of  the 
caller  above  the  swish  of  slipping  feet,  "  Ketch  that 
gal  an'  sashay  by !  Rope  that  heifer  with  th'  rollin' 
eye !    All  ban's  roun' !  " 

Late  in  the  night,  in  the  cool  short  hours,  a  group 
of  h-orsemen  rode  in  from  the  open  levels  and  tied 
their  mounts  well  out  among  the  cottonwoods  at  the 
west.  A  little  later  new  faces  appeared  among  the 
crowd  that  surged  in  and  out  of  the  door  at  Hunne- 
well's.  Sharp,  alert  faces  they  were,  every  one, 
their  keen  eyes  moving  under  their  hat-brims  with 
quiet  watchfulness. 

These  strangers  came  in  unostentatiously  and 
stood  in  a  bunch,  somewhat  close  together.  There 
were  nine  of  them,  all  clad  in  good  garments,  the 
best  that  money  could  buy  in  a  wider  market  than 
the  rangeland  owned.  Their  soft  fine  boots  were 
stitched  in  colours,  their  hats  were  very  xr'Ae  and 
ornamented  with  much  silver  after  the  fashion  of 
their  kind  across  the  line,  and  they  wore  handsome 
belts  and  spotted  cuffs,  while  silver  spurs,  their 
long  shafts  minutely  carved  by  hand,  jingled  on 
their  heels. 

In  a  land  where  many  mysterious  strangers  rode 
now  and  again  and  none  asked  their  business,  these 
men  drew  instant  attention.  There  was  something 
vital  about  them,  something  tense  and  guarded. 
They  stood  quietly  and  watched  the  dancers,  and  in 
their  midst  stood  one  who  was  of  a  different  mould. 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  91 

Tall,  slim,  fine  of  feature  and  form,  smiling,  his 
reckless  face  a-sparkle  with  the  joy  of  youth  in 
music  and  motion,  this  man  was  not  so  guardedly 
alert,  and  he  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Thick 
black  hair  waved  back  from  a  handsome  brow, 
white  with  the  bleach  of  the  sweatband,  sign  man- 
ual of  him  who  rides  much  in  the  open. 

His  blue  eyes  under  their  black  lashes  roved 
over  the  dancers  with  a  bright  bold  glance. 

"  C'rall  yore  pardners ! ''  and  the  "  square  "  was 
over. 

But  old  Doc  Tackert  was  celebrating  high  him- 
self and  he  gave  scant  time  for  breath  between  the 
numbers.  His  weazened  face  was  hot  with  the 
liquor  which  Hunnewell  lavishly  provided  on  a 
tray  on  the  platform's  edge,  and  he  stopped  but  for 
another  sip,  changed  one  knee  over  the  other, 
snapped  his  fiddle  strings  and  swung  forth  in 
another  waltz. 

As  the  couples  drifted  out  again  Lolo  Sanchez,  a 
living  flower  in  her  black  and  scarlet,  came  down 
the  room  in  the  arms  of  a  big  blond  boy,  her  small 
face  upturned,  her  coquette's  heart  playing  the  old 
game  in  her  dusky  eyes.  The  boy,  none  other  than 
the  one  who  had  asked  Perly  about  Val  earlier  in 
the  night,  was  plainly  in  bad  case,  far  gone  in  the 
thrall  of  ihe  little  vixen,  his  young  head  turned 
completely.  He  danced  and  never  took  his  eyes 
from  hers,  or  from  the  silken  top  of  her  smooth 
small  head.  Lolo  was  happy  and  as  cruel  as  a 
hawk. 


92  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

And  then — the  boy  swung  her  past  the  door  and 
she  looked  up  full  into  the  smiling  face  of  the 
stranger. 

"  Velantrie !  "  she  breathed  to  herself. 

'^  What?  "  asked  the  boy,  but  she  did  not  hear. 

From  that  moment  she  forgot  him  utterly. 

When  the  dance  ended  Lolo  stopped,  as  if  by  acci- 
dent— something  about  the  tiny  slipper  that  en- 
cased her  light  foot — ^bent  and  straightened  it — 
close  by  the  door.  As  she  rose,  quick  as  a  willow 
wand  released,  she  looked  into  Velantrie's  eyes  and 
her  own  were  eloquent. 

"  Master !  "  she  murmured  in  Spanish,  so  low 
that  none  but  he  caught  the  soft  word.  Then  she 
was  gone  with  never  a  backward  glance.  Lolo  was 
an  artist  thrice  refined.  She  knew  men  instinc- 
tively. 

She  knew  well  that  this  stranger  cared  not  a 
whit  for  her,  that  not  even  her  spectacular  offer  of 
herself  for  Brideman's  stake  that  day  had  touched 
him,  but  she  meant  to  touch  him. 

Therefore  she  whispered  one  thrilling  word  and 
left  him  as  if  she  had  not  spoken. 

"  Who's  th'  chap  by  th'  door?  "  the  blond  boy 
asked  suspiciously,  but  Lolo  looked  up  innocently. 

"  Which  one? "  she  asked,  and  the  suspicion 
died. 

The  newcomers  did  not  dance.  They  had  come 
because  Velantrie  gave  the  word,  because  he  chose 
to  look  upon  Santa  Leandra  at  her  merrymaking, 
and  that  was  all. 


A  BUSTLER'S  HAND  93 

Velantrie  did  not  dance  either.  There  was  none 
whom  he  knew  upon  that  floor  save  and  except  the 
small  girl  who  called  him  master,  and  he  only 
smiled  with  amusement  as  he  watched  her. 

But  Lolo  Sanchez'  quick  little  brain  was  working 
and  she  meant  to  change  that  very  soon.  There- 
fore she  sent  the  least  of  her  followers,  a  meek 
brown  Mexican,  unnoticeable  in  the  crowd,  to 
whisper  something  in  old  Doc.  Tackert's  ear. 

Lolo  did  not  dance  the  next  number,  the  first  on 
her  record  for  the  night,  though  lovers  and  would- 
be  lovers  thronged  about  her.  She  waved  her  tiny 
hands  and  shook  her  shining  black  head. 

"  Tired,''  she  said  stubbornly,  "  I  rest." 

And  the  admirers  laughed. 

Lolo  tired?     Lolo  the  vital,  the  indefatigable? 

But  rest  she  did  while  the  others  glided  and 
pointed  heel-and-toe,  rested  quietly  with  her  small 
hands  folded  in  her  scarlet  lap — and  never  once 
did  she  look  across  toward  the  door. 

And  then  the  music  stopped,  the  crowds  drifted 
to  the  benches,  and  Doc  Tackert  was  tuning  his 
fiddle  to  another  key. 

He  took  another  sip  from  the  tray,  tucked  the 
fiddle  in  his  neck  and  began  abruptly  to  play — and 
no  one  called  this  number. 

Wild,  swift,  beautiful  music  it  was,  Spanish  to 
the  core. 

It  lilted  and  swung  and  at  regular  intervals 
there  came  a  thrum  of  the  bass  that  sounded  like 
the  stroke  of  a  foot  upon  the  floor.     And  then, 


94  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

softly,  swiftly,  like  a  leaf  before  a  wind,  Lolo  San- 
chez came  drifting  down  the  floor  alone.  Prom 
somewhere  as  if  by  magic  she  had  drawn  a  pair  of 
castanets,  and  these  began  to  snap  and  click  as 
her  hands  rose  above  her  head. 

Ah,  she  was  a  beautiful  thing!  Young,  slim, 
small,  graceful  as  a  gazelle,  her  lithe  body  bent 
and  swayed,  whirled  and  dipped  and  circled,  like 
a  flame  in  the  breeze. 

The  wide  skirt  of  scarlet  and  black  that  hung 
tight  about  her  slim  knees  was  cunningly  plaited, 
so  that,  with  each  dip  and  swirl,  it  spread  at  the 
bottom  like  a  great  inverted  blossom,  blazingly 
striped  with  the  striking  colours.  She  had  drawn 
a  black  lace  scarf,  fine  as  a  cobweb,  from  a  hidden 
pocket,  and  this  hung  over  one  shoulder,  its  other 
end  caught  in  her  fingers  with  the  castanets,  a 
whirling,  floating  cloud  of  shadow  that  played 
around  her  little  head  with  magic. 

Turning,  bending,  floating,  she  came  down  the 
open  floor  dancing  in  such  perfect  time  that  never 
once  did  old  Doc  Tackert  have  to  slur  a  note  to 
match  her,  and  with  each  thrum  of  the  bass  her 
tiny  foot  struck  sharp  against  the  boards,  like  a 
drum  among  the  strings. 

Onlookers  ceased  to  smile  and  watched  in  open 
wonder.  This  girl  was  brave  and  she  dared  greatly, 
for  only  an  expert  could  take  a  floor  away  from  the 
crowd  and  "  get  away  with  it.''  But  she  got  away 
with  it  entirely. 

"  Great  jumpin'  bobcats !  "  said  a  man  softly,  as 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  95 

she  passed,  "that  there's  dancin/,  boys,  now  I'm 
here  to  tell  you !  " 

The  little  ears  under  the  banded  hair  caught  the 
praise  but  Lolo  did  not  smile. 

She  was  after  bigger  game  than  admiring  com- 
ment. 

Stamp — whirl — bend — hands  waving,  castanets 
clicking,  she  went  down  the  long  room,  circled  its 
farther  end  and  came  drifting  up  along  the  other 
side.  Necks  were  craned,  feet  drawn  back  to  give 
her  room,  for  she  was  dancing  close.  And  then, 
suddenly  it  seemed,  she  was  opposite  Velantrie 
where  he  stood  beside  the  door. 

Out  to  the  centre  she  went  as  if  she  spurned  the 
crowd,  then  swift  as  a  winged  thing  she  darted 
toward  him,  threw  back  her  little  head,  smiled 
straight  in  his  eyes  and  held  out  her  hands,  palm» 
up. 

It  was  a  challenge,  direct,  daring,  pretty. 

For  one  second  the  man  hesitated.  Then  he 
tossed  his  broad  hat  to  those  behind,  sprang  for- 
ward and  caught  those  outstretched  hands. 

Lolo's  eyes  were  liquid  light  as  she  drew  him  into 
the  clear,  snatched  her  hands  away,  tossed  them 
above  her  head,  and  began  to  dance  in  earnest.  The 
stranger,  too,  began  to  dance,  and  those  who 
watched  saw  instantly  that  the  girl  had  made  no 
false  choice  of  partners.  He  placed  a  hand  on  his 
belted  hip,  raised  the  other  to  touch  her  clicking 
fingers  now  and  again,  and  he,  too,  swayed  and 
dipped  and  circled,  though  in  a  lesser  fashion,  to 


m  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

give  background  to  her  brilliance,  the  subtle  and 
perfect  accompaniment  to  a  wonderful  perform- 
ance. 

Lolo  was  a  rose  in  the  night,  a  wind  in  the  twi- 
light, a  laugh  and  a  jest  and  a  challenge.  Velan^ 
trie,  the  stranger,  was  a  young  tree  in  a  storm,  a 
€loud  hard  blown  by  winds,  and  the  thunder  of  his 
booted  heels  rolled  under  the  lightning  of  the  casta- 
nets. 

"  Great  snakes !  '^  said  Perly,  softly,  "  ain't  that 
amazin'?" 

He  spoke  to  nobody  in  particular,  but  the  blond 
boy  who  stood  beside  him  cleared  his  throat  as  if 
with  an  effort  and  Val  Hannon  on  the  other  side 
glanced  up.  The  boy's  face  was  pale  as  milk  and 
his  blue  eyes  were  narrowed  to  cold  points. 

Down  the  room  and  back  again  went  the  two. 
Lolo  was  all  about  Velantrie,  coaxing,  spurning, 
challenging,  and  all  the  while  her  little  face  was 
full  of  light  that  shone  for  all  to  see. 

If  she  had  made  secret  love  to  him  in  some  dusky 
bower  it  could  have  had  no  more  appeal,  for  Lolo 
was  playing  for  high  stakes  herself  this  time.  Lit- 
tle she  cared  for  the  watching  eyes.  In  the  blue 
eyes  of  this  man,  smiling  above  her,  she  longed  to 
see  awaken  the  look  that  she  knew  so  well,  the 
quick,  longing  Took  of  the  coming  lover,  and  she 
used  her  sweetest  magic — magic  of  slumbrous 
glance,  of  parted  scarlet  lips,  of  gay  little  head 
back-tipped.  Wilder,  swifter,  became  the  music, 
for  Old  Doc,  artist  himself,  knew  well  that  she 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  9T 

could  not  long  hold  out  at  that  pace,  and  prepared 
for  the  climax.  Lolo  knew  the  tune  and  prepared 
herself. 

As  if  by  artless  chance  she  drew  the  figure  grace- 
fully toward  the  far  side  of  the  floor,  directly  be- 
fore the  blond  boy,  and  she  was  utterly  irresistible. 
Butterflies  in  the  breeze,  stars  that  glittered,  fires 
at  night — she  was  all  of  them,  and  men's  pulses 
throbbed  drunkenly  to  behold  her. 

And  then,  as  the  music  rose  to  one  last  sweet 
keening,  she  fied  straight  to  Velantrie,  sank  back- 
ward in  his  reaching  arm,  and  held  up  her  flower 
face  toward  him,  unmistakable  in  its  intent,  its 
invitation. 

Half  under  her  spell  the  man  hesitated  a  fraction 
of  a  second.  The  perfect  action  of  the  steps  and  the 
music  lost  its  flrst  beat  in  that  second's  wait.  Lolo's 
face  glowed  deeper — and  Velantrie  bent. 

''  By !  "  came  a  choking  whisper  as  the  blond 

boy,  grey  as  ashes  and  cold,  reached  to  his 
hip. 

There  was  a  flash  of  metal,  a  step  forward — and 
in  that  second  Val  Hannon  beside  him  dropped  a 
lightning-quick  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  swung 
him  round  in  action — as  she  had  so  often  swung 
her  dad.  There  was  an  oath,  a  shot  that  went  wild 
and  landed  in  Hunnewell's  tray  on  the  platform's 
edge  across  the  room,  and  Velantrie,  arrested  half- 
way to  Lolo's  siren  lips,  looked  straight  past  the 
boy  and  into  the  blazing  black  eyes  of  the  girl  who 
had  saved  his  life. 


98  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

For  one  sharp  moment  the  tension  held. 

Then  Velantrie  slowly  straightened  up  and  Lolo 
slipped  from  his  arm,  forgotten  as  she  had  forgot- 
ten the  blond  boy.  He  stood  still,  breathing  hard, 
his  blue  eyes  fastened  on  Val's  face,  a  frown  be- 
tween them. 

From  all  sides  men  crowded  in,  pushed  between 
and  hustled  the  boy  away,  while  from  that  other 
side  of  the  room  Velantrie's  followers  came  like  a 
bolt,  solid  packed,  their  faces  aflame  and  keen, 
their  hands  on  their  guns,  ready. 

"  Steady,  boys,"  said  Velantrie,  "  there's  nothing 
wrong." 

Then  he  made  one  stride  to  Val,  reached  out  a 
hand  and  smiled.  It  was  the  brilliant  lighting  of 
his  face,  like  fire  behind  a  curtain,  that  was  his 
chiefest  charm. 

^'  I've  had  many  a  close  call,"  he  said  simply, 
"  and  have  done  some  sharp  tricks  to  beat  them 
myself,  but  I  never  saw  a  prettier  piece  of  work 
than  that.  The  quick  thought,  the  quick  action — 
they  were  like  a  man,  a  keen  man,  used  to  desperate 
chances,  and  I  never  saw  a  woman  before  who  could 
think  and  act  like  that.  If  you  knew  me,"  he  fin- 
ished frankly,  ^^  perhaps  you  would  not  take  my 
hand.    But  I  want  to  thank  you." 

Gravely  Val  looked  full  into  his  brilliant  eyes. 
The  light  and  the  laughter  of  the  earlier  night  were 
gone  from  her  face,  why  she  could  not  have  told  to 
save  her  life,  yet  it  was  not  because  of  the  near 
tragedy,  that  she  knew. 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  99 

''  Yes,"  she  said  as  simply,  "  I  will  take  your 
hand." 

And  her  firm  brown  fingers  closed  around  his  in 
a  strong  clasp.  The  smile  died  on  the  man's  face 
and  he  looked  into  hers  for  another  long  moment. 

Then  he  loosed  her  hand  and  turned  away. 

"  I  shall  not  forget,"  he  said. 

Instantly  his  men  qlosed  about  him,  they 
marched  across  the  floor  among  the  crowd  which 
fell  back  from  them,  filed  compactly  out  the  door 
and  were  gone. 

The  celebration  was  over  in  Santa  Leandra.  Dim 
shapes  rode  through  the  dust  and  the  cool  starlight 
that  presaged  the  dawn,  and  the  denizens  of  the 
rangeland  scattered  for  another  year. 

In  silence  mostly  the  groups  drew  apart. 

Perly  took  Val  to  the  Hudson  House  to  change 
into  her  riding  clothes,  waited  until  she  appeared, 
and  escorted  her  to  the  corrals  where  Briston  had 
the  horses  ready  and  waiting. 

As  the  east  brightened  dimly  they  left  Santa 
Leandra  and  rode  out  on  the  open  plain. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  bunch  from  Paradise 
that  no  one  spoke  of  the  occurrence  in  the  dance 
hall. 

It  was  mid-morning  when  they  rode  into  Para- 
dise, and  far  off  Val  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
and  searched  the  familiar  place. 

"  Boys,"  she  said  at  last,  "  there's  something 
wrong  at  home.    The  riders  are  all  in  and  hanging 


100  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

round  the  corrals.  There's  dad — he's  waiting  for 
ns." 

There  was  something  wrong  at  Paradise,  indeed. 

John  Hannon  met  them  at  the  corner  of  the 
great  house  and  his  face  bore  signs  of  strain.  His 
dark  eyes  were  cold  and  narrow. 

^^  Dad,"  said  the  girl  straightly,  '^  what's  up?  " 

"A  lot,"  he  answered  grimly,  "this  damn 
country'll  say  no  more  that  John  Hannon's  magic 
works — that  he  don't  lose  no  stock." 

Val's  hands  on  the  pommel  suddenly  gripped 
hard. 

"What?"  she  said,  "come  on.  What's  hap- 
pened? " 

"Rustlers,"  he  said,  "at  last.  Th'  Redstar's 
gone." 

Slowly  she  slid  out  of  her  saddle.  Slowly  the 
colour  drained  from  her  dusky  cheeks,  leaving 
them  ashen.  She  stood  for  a  moment  leaning 
against  Redcloud,  as  if  her  knees  had  run  to  water. 

Then  she  went  drunkenly  towiard  the  broad  stone 
step  and  dropped  upon  it.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  sat  still  as  the  dead.  She  did 
not  sob  and  no  tears  crept  through  her  shaking 
fingers.  She  felt  as  if  a  knife  had  been  driven  deep 
into  her  heart — she  could  not  breathe  and  her 
throat  ached. 

John  Hannon  stood  and  watched  her,  his  face 
working. 

"  Buck  up,"  he  said  at  last  sharply,  "  are  you  my 
daughter?  " 


A  RUSTLER'S  HAND  101 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered  thickly,  "  yes — sir." 

"  Then  be  a  man." 

The  girl  rose  unsteadily  and  turned  her  grey 
face  toward  the  house — but  every  nerve  in  her  was 
crying  with  her  loss. 

She  felt  the  wind  keening  by  her  face,  the  slip 
and  slide  of  the  Red  King's  massive  shoulders  un- 
der her,  heard  the  long  roll  of  his  drumming  hoofs. 
She  saw  his  gentle  eyes,  felt  his  satin  cheek  on 
hers 

And  he  was  gone — the  great  king  of  Paradise  was 
gone — gone  to  the  Border,  into  the  hands  of  law- 
less men — perhaps  to  the  possession  of  that  arch 
bandit  whose  fame  was  black  upon  the  land — the 
Black  Rustler  himself! 

"  Oh,  Redstar !  "  she  cried  inwardly,  "  Oh,  my 
king  of  horses !    Redstar !    Oh,  Redstar !  " 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES 

PARADISE  hummed  like  a  hive  of  bees.  Perly 
and  Siff  were  all  for  saddling  up  and  tilting 
out,  twin  Galahads,  on  Redstar's  trail,  but 
Briston  put  a  stop  to  that  in  his  sane  and  quiet 
way. 

"  You  ain't  noways  sure  that  you  could  get  him, 
once  yuh  found  him,  fer  whoever  took  him  knows 
all  about  him,  you  can  bet  on  that,  an'  ain't  a-takin' 
no  chances  on  losin'  him.  An'  furthermore,  he 
didn't  leave  no  trail." 

Which  last  was  very  true.  Neither  Redstar  nor 
those  who  took  him  had  left  the  faintest  trace  of 
their  flight,  though  the  theft  had  been  committed 
from  the  very  heart  of  Paradise  itself,  from  the 
small  corral  behind  the  big  one  in  which  the  king 
was  always  locked  at  night. 

"Wrapped  his  feet,"  said  the  boss  briefly  and 
grimly,  ^^  an'  tied  his  nose,  mebby,  so's  he  wouldn't 
make  no  noise." 

"  But  fer  th'  love  of  Pete,  John,"  said  Perly,  mis- 
erably, "  where  was  them  worthless  vaqueros,  Jos6 
an'  Arias  an'  Miguel?    An'  where  were  you?" 

The  boss  looked  hard  at  his  rider,  but  the  boy's 
eyes  were  only  earnest  and  concerned. 

"  Th'  boys  was  all  here — asleep  I  suppose,  though 

102 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES     103 

Jos6  was  supposed  t'  be  on  guard.  That's  what  a 
man  gets  by  trustin'  his  help  too  damned  much." 

Jos^,  meek  and  quiet,  his  dark  eyes  downcast, 
passed  at  that  moment  and  heard  the  biting  words, 
but  his  gentle  brown  face  did  not  change. 

"  An'  as  for  me,"  went  on  John  Hannon,  "  I 
slept  like  a  log  an'  never  heard  a  hoof." 

When  rustlers  struck  in  the  cattle  country  unrest 
came  and  hovered  over  that  particular  ranchOy  for 
the  gentry  of  the  Border  were  known  to  select  the 
best  ground  for  operations,  and  though  with  Red- 
star's  taking  the  best  of  Paradise  was  gone,  there 
was  yet  rich  picking  in  the  matchless  Red  Brood, 
and  every  soul  at  the  ranch,  it  seemed,  was  strung 
like  a  wire  from  that  day  on. 

There  were  many  days  thereafter  when  Val 
drooped  about  the  deep  rooms  like  a  wilted  flower, 
sick  with  the  first  grief  of  her  life.  And  Belle  Han- 
non became  the  comforter,  the  martial  stafiE  of  cour- 
age. The  sweet  and  gentle  woman  was  aflame  with 
anger.  All  her  pride  in  Hannon  supremacy,  all  her 
love  for  the  master  of  Paradise,  were  outraged  and 
aroused. 

"  Val,"  she  said  to  the  girl,  "  I  know  you  are  suf- 
fering with  the  loss,  that  you  loved  Redstar — but 
think  of  your  father. 

"  If  you  are  sick  over  this  what  do  you  think  he 
feels?  He  who  is  so  proud,  who  has  been  set  apart 
like,  who  has  been  invincible !  While  others  lost  on 
every  side  he  has  been  inviolate.  None  dared  to 
strike  at  Paradise  before.    Now  the  invincibility  is 


104  VAL  OF  PAKADISE 

broken.  He  has  been  insulted  like  any  common 
rancher,  the  thing  he  prized  above  all  his  posses- 
sions stolen  from  his  very  door !  We  must  be  brave 
for  his  sake,  so  don't  let  him  see  you  fret  like  this." 

And,  as  always  when  her  mother  spoke,  Val 
pulled  herself  together  and  tried  to  obey.  But  it 
was  a  hard  pull.  For  days  she  could  not  mount  a 
horse.  The  levels  called  to  her  with  a  promise  of 
healing  in  their  majestic  spaces,  but  when  she 
thought  of  Dawnlight  or  Eedcloud  or  Lightning 
beneath  her  in  place  of  the  great  red  king  her  heart 
sickened. 

But  she  knew  she  must  conquer  the  feeling 
sooner  or  later,  and  she  began  to  long  for  the  com- 
forting peace  of  Refugio  and  Father  Hillair^. 

So  at  last,  on  a  golden  day  when  the  little  winds 
were  still  and  soft  white  clouds  floated  lazily  in  the 
high  blue  vault,  she  saddled  the  gelding  and  went 
away. 

Down  across  the  plains  that  rimmed  the  south, 
across  Arroyo  Pecos  she  went,  forded  the  shallow 
Antelope,  and  saw  the  Mission  walls  clear  in  the 
light. 

And  every  step  of  the  way  she  thought  of  Eedstar 
and  how  he  was  wont  to  sail  like  a  hawk  along 
these  very  levels,  the  miles  as  naught  to  him.  Never 
in  his  life  with  them  had  she  known  him  to  tire,  not 
at  the  heaviest  grill  John  Hannon  had  ever  given 
him. 

And  so  she  rode  and  thought,  and  presently  her 
mind  went  back  to  Santa  Leandra  and  the  races 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES     105 

and  the  dance.  With  the  dance  came  once  more 
thought  of  the  flaming  dark  girl,  Lolo,  and  the  blue- 
eyed  stranger  with  the  speaking  face  where  the 
spirit  glowed  like  light  behind  a  curtain.  Many- 
times  had  she  thought  of  that  brilliant  glance,  of 
the  mouth  with  the  upturned  corners.  She  felt 
again  the  close  grip  of  his  hand,  a  soft  hand,  slim 
and  long,  that  seemed  as  vital  as  a  face.  Val  Han- 
non  remembered  the  stranger  with  a  peculiar  inter- 
est and  was  glad,  very  glad,  that  the  bullet  meant 
for  his  tall  body  had  been  averted  by  her  hand.  And 
then  she  rode  to  the  gate  of  Refugio  where  Father 
Hillair^  stood,  though  with  so  strange  a  trouble  on 
his  face  that  she  forgot  her  own. 

She  swung  from  her  saddle  to  take  his  hand, 
searching  his  features.  And  then,  over  his  shabby 
shoulder,  she  looked  once  more  into  the  face  of  the 
black-haired  stranger,  for  Velantrie  stood  beside 
the  table  in  the  padre^s  garden. 

But  Father  Hillair^  moved  between  them  and 
drew  her  eyes  to  his  own. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  whispered,  "  do  not  mention 
loss  or  trouble  here." 

Wonderingly  Val  nodded  and  followed  him  in 
along  the  wall  while  Bonifacio  took  her  rein  and 
led  her  horse  away. 

Many  times  in  his  long  life  had  Father  Hillair^ 
stood  between  two  fires,  and  searched  his  good 
heart  for  the  better  thing  to  do.  He  stood  there 
now  as  he' led  Val  Hannon  to  face  the  man  at  the 
table. 


106  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

What  vital  things  might  happen  from  this  hour 
'- — what  staring  truths  slip  out  to  unleash  tragedy ! 

He  held  the  girl's  hand  and  looked  at  the  man, 
and  his  gentle  eyes  were  deep  with  trouble. 

"  My  son/'  he  said  at  last,  "  this  is  Val  Han- 
non,  the  sweetest,  purest,  truest  thing  in  woman- 
flesh  I  have  ever  known,  except  her  mother." 

The  girl  flushed  and  turned  her  dark  eyes  up  to 
him. 

^^  And  this,  Val,"  he  said,  taking  the  stranger's 
hand  to  place  her  own  therein,  "  is  Don  Velantrie, 
stranger  to  the  rangeland,  sometime  of  the  Bor- 
der." 

The  two  young  creatures  did  not  smile,  for 
gravity  seemed  to  wait  upon  their  meetings.  In- 
stead they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  with  a 
breathless  seeming  of  intensity,  and  without  voli- 
tion their  hands  clasped  eagerly. 

Father  Hillair^,  wise  in  the  reading  of  signs,  saw 
that  look  of  dawning  wonder,  and  his  heart  con- 
tracted. 

"  We've  met  before,  padre/^  said  Velantrie, 
quietly,  "  I  am  glad  to  say,  for  if  we  hadn't  I  should 
not  be  here  this  hour." 

And  he  smiled  then,  straight  down  at  Val,  while 
his  two  blue  eyes  studied  hers,  first  one  and  then  the 
other. 

The  girl  drew  her  hand  away  and  with  a  word 
of  excuse  passed  on  into  the  house  to  find  Jose- 
phina. 

Velantrie  turned  and  looked  after  her. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES    107 

When  she  was  gone  from  sight  he  looked  at 
Father  Hillair^. 

^'  Padre/'  he  said  gravely,  "  that's  why  I  came  to 
Refugio  today — to  ask  you  who  she  was — for  she 
saved  my  life  at  the  dance  at  Santa  Leandra." 

And  he  proceeded  to  tell  him  of  that  wild  hour 
and  its  culmination. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  action,"  he  finished  admir- 
ingly, "  swift  and  keen  and  timed  to  the  second. 
If  she  were  a  man  she'd  be  a  good  rider,  a  good 
loser  and  a  good  shot." 

^^  She  is  all  three,"  said  the  priest,  and  with  a 
sigh  he  gazed  out  across  the  spreading  plains 
toward  the  south. 

Presently  he  seemed  to  come  back  from  the  in- 
finitude of  that  far  gaze  and  smiled  at  Velantrie,  a 
sad  crinkling  of  his  features. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  she  is  the  flower  of  the 
rangeland,  glad,  wholesome,  high-souled,  born  to 
peace  and  the  even  way  of  honour  and  of  happiness. 
I'd  lay  down  this  old  body  of  mine  to  keep  sor- 
row from  her  sweet  heart,  tears  from  her  pretty 
eyes." 

Velantrie  stirred,  fiddled  with  his  hat  brim  on 
the  table  and  reached  into  the  pocket  of  his  flannel 
shirt  for  a  cigarette. 

"  Her  face  has  haunted  me  since  I  first  looked  up 
and  saw  her  with  her  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder 
and  her  eyes  blazing — haunted  me  with  an  odd 
familiarity,  as  if  somewhere,  sometime,  I  had  seen 
those  clean-cut  features,  those  narrowed,  lighted 


108  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

feyes.  I  have  puzzled  over  it  ever  since,  padre. 
Where  have  I  seen  this  girl? '' 

"You  have  not  seen  her/'  said  Father  Hillair^ 
quickly,  "  for  I  have  known  her  from  her  birth  and 
she  has  never  been  beyond  Santa  Leandra  to  the 
north  and  west,  a  day's  ride  south.  And  you  are 
new  to  this  country.  You  have  never  seen  her,  my 
son." 

Fond  as  Father  Hillair^  was  of  the  man  before 
him  there  was  in  his  voice  a  subtle  note  of  warning, 
and  Velantrie  caught  it  instantly.  His  dark  face 
flushed  and  he  rose  gracefully  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"I  know,  padre/^  he  said  straightly,  ^^ I  know. 
It  is  not  for  Velantrie — '  sometime  of  the  Border ' — 
forsworn  to  blood — to  raise  his  eyes  to  such  virgin 
flesh.  And  he  does  not.  It  is  like  your  Church 
door — forbidden.  .  .  .  But  sometimes  the  far 
sight  of  it — like  the  Church  door — brings  a  certain 
wistfulness." 

"  Then  why  not  change? ''  cried  the  priest 
eagerly.  "  It  is  never  too  late !  The  Church,  the 
woman — they  both  forgive." 

But  Velantrie  shook  his  black  head  and  his 
mouth  hardened. 

"  For  me  it  is,"  he  said,  "  I  have  set  myself  a 
task,  as  you  know,  and  my  life  is  given  to  it.  Not 
till  I  have  found  and  killed " 

But  with  an  exclamation  Father  Hillair^  laid  a 
hand  across  his  lips,  for  Val  Hannon  was  coming 
down  the  sanded  walk  with  Maria's  baby  on  her 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES    109 

shoulder.  She  made  a  wondrous  picture  in  her  slim 
youth  and  her  dusky  colour,  with  the  soft  look  of 
universal  motherhood  drooping  the  lashes  on  her 
Smiling  eyes. 

The  wistful  look  in  the  stranger's  eyes  deepened 
with  a  sort  of  swift  sickness  and  he  picked  up  his 
hat. 

"  I'll  go/'  he  said  gently,  but  the  father  shook  his 
head. 

"  Stay  until  she  leaves,"  he  said  desperately, 
"  we've  had  little  speech  together." 

Not  for  all  the  poor  treasures  of  his  humble  house 
would  Father  Hillair^  have  had  Velantrie's  whistle 
cut  the  quiet  air,  have  seen  The  Comet  come  trot- 
ting down  beneath  the  hanging  trees. 

So  Velantrie  stood  and  watched  while  Val  came 
and  sat  in  one  of  the  ancient  chairs  and  put  the 
baby  on  her  knee  to  play  with  its  rose-leaf  fingers 
and  touch  with  understanding  hands  its  little 
waxen  cheeks. 

*^  It's  a  beautiful  baby,  padre/^  she  said,  wisely 
regarding  the  infant,  "  a  darling  bundle  of  sweet- 
ness. But  I  think  with  you  that  Maria  is  not  so 
well.    The  cough  persists." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  father  anxiously,  "  and  I  have 
tried  all  my  remedies  in  vain.  She  sickens  for  the 
sight  of  that  worthless  one  for  whom  she  has  never 
ceased  to  mourn." 

^^  If  I  had  hold  of  him,"  said  Val  with  sudden 
swift  viciousness,  "  I'd  kill  him !  " 

"  My  daughter !  "  said  the  priest  sharply,  and  the 


110  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

girl  blushed.  But  Velantrie  smiled  as  he  dropped 
into  a  chair  across  the  little  open  space  of  the 
sanded  walk. 

^'  Suppose,"  he  said  in  the  low  voice  that  was 
sweet  with  music,  ^^that  some  one  brought  him 
back  sealed,  under  pain  of  death,  to  be  good  to 
Maria  and  the  cherub  here?  Would  that  please 
you?'' 

"  More  than  anything  in  all  this  world ! ''  cried 
Val,  impulsively,  "  except " 

But  she  broke  the  speech  and  glanced  at  Father 
Hillair^. 

"  It  would  be  a  holy  work,''  she  finished  gently, 
"  and  I  should  be  very  glad." 

"  Then,"  said  Velantrie,  still  smiling,  "  it  shall  be 
done.  Who  is  the  man,  padre,  and  from  where  did 
he  leave  this  part  of  the  country?  " 

"  It  is  only  a  peon  from  down  by  Arguenta  across 
the  line  by  the  name  of  Mesos  Pecuento,  and  he 
melted  into  the  west  somewhere.  It  is  a  heavy 
promise  you  make,  my  son." 

"  But  one  I  shall  be  glad  to  redeem,"  answered 
Velantrie. 

Val  looked  at  him  with  deep  eyes  that  were  sweet 
with  a  new  depth  and  a  sort  of  wonder.  This 
stranger  that  she  had  begun  to  meet  talked  quietly 
of  big  deeds  and  was  quick  as  running  waters.  She 
thought  of  his  acceptance  of  Lolo's  challenge  that 
night  in  Santa  Leandra  and  how  swiftly  he  had 
caught  her  meaning. 

But  the  light  in  her  face  darkened  a  bit  at  that 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES    111 

memory  and  somehow  she  was  not  so  well  pleased 
with  him.  There  was  something  about  the  flam- 
ing dark  girl  that  she  did  not  like  at  all.  Her 
woman's  instinct  had  recoiled  from  her  in  passing 
through  the  dance — and  she  had  dropped  her  own 
red  rose  in  a  corner  because  this  unknown  girl  had 
worn  one  like  it  in  the  same  manner ! 

So  she  played  with  the  baby  and  listened  to  the 
quiet  talk  of  the  two  men  and  the  summer  day 
drowsed  toward  its  close,  and  the  stranger  stayed 
as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  leave. 

The  gold  and  amethyst  began  to  sift  across  the 
rangeland  and  presently  she  rose  and  took  the  child 
away  to  the  recesses  of  the  deep  house.  When  she 
came  back  she  was  ready  for  the  saddle,  drawing 
on  her  fringed  gloves,  her  wide  hat  on  her  dark 
head. 

Bonifacio  brought  Lightning,  and  Velantrie 
looked  at  him  with  keen  eyes.  Always  this  man 
looked  at  horses.  On  the  range,  in  the  streets  of 
the  scattered  towns,  everywhere,  it  was  horseflesh 
for  which  he  searched  untiringly.  An  expres- 
sion of  admiration  passed  across  his  speaking 
face. 

"That  is  a  beautiful  horse,  Miss  Hannon,"  he 
said,  ''  a  swift  horse,  too,  I  know." 

Val  smiled. 

"  The  swiftest  in  the  country,"  she  said  proudly, 
"  better  than  Clendenning's  Dollar.  Better  than  all 
others,  except  one." 

At  that  slight  reference  to  the  lost  Redstar  her 


112  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

features  clouded — and  Father  Hillair6  felt  the 
sweat  start  on  his  flesh. 

But  she  said  no  more  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-bye,  father.    I'll  come  again,  soon." 

Then  she  turned  and,  with  an  appearance  of  tim- 
idity that  sat  oddly  on  Val  Hannon,  held  out  the 
same  hand  to  Velantrie.  Again  the  man  took  it 
and  again  the  father  saw  that  unconscious  eager- 
ness in  both  young  faces. 

When  the  girl  was  gone,  sailing  like  a  kite  in  the 
winds  across  the  reaches  of  the  green  plain,  he 
wiped  his  face  and  the  lines  seemed  to  have  been 
graven  a  trifle  deeper  therein,  as  if  he  felt  a  presage 
of  disaster. 

Long  he  sat  that  night  and  talked  with  Velantrie 
in  the  shadowed  garden,  while  the  stars  came  out 
on  the  velvet  sky,  and  the  evening  service  had  been 
said,  and  peace  reigned  in  the  wide  world  of  the 
rangeland.  Velantrie  had  smoked  and  waited 
while  the  candles  glimmered  in  the  dark  interior  of 
the  Mission  and  the  voices  of  the  worshippers  came 
faintly  through  the  silence,  and  he  bowed  his  head 
instinctively.  When  the  priest  had  come  at  last  it 
was  to  break  a  reverie  in  which  the  face  of  Val  Han- 
non glowed  like  a  live-coal  in  the  dark  and  troubled 
him  with  its  illusive  hint  of  familiarity. 

"  Where  have  I  seen  her?  "  he  asked  himself  over 
and  over,  "  sometime — somewhere — I've  seen  those 
long  dark  eyes  with  the  crinkles  at  the  corners — 
though  they  were  not  soft  then  but  hard  and  bright. 
Now,  where — and  when?  " 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWNING  FIRES     113 

And  long  after  he  had  left  the  quiet  garden  and 
was  riding  down  the  world  toward  the  mystery  of 
the  Border,  toward  his  swift  and  dangerous  life, 
that  beautiful  face  continued  to  haunt  him  and 
Velantrie,  careless  of  women,  the  reckless,  the  bit- 
ter-hearted toward  those  who  oppressed  the  help- 
less, Velantrie  who  harried  the  rich  and  gave  to  the 
poor  with  lavish  largess,  who  was  hard  to  catch  and 
impossible  to  hold,  Velantrie  thought  deeply  of  a 
woman  and  was  glad  that  he  had  looked  upon  her, 
even  from  afar. 


CHAPTEE  X 

VAL    CALLS 

JOHN  HANNON  stood  in  the  deep  room  where 
the  Indian  blankets  glowed  and  held  his  wife 
in  the  bend  of  his  arm.  His  face  was  a 
strange  mixture  of  conflicting  emotions.  A  veri- 
table sickness  of  parting  sat  upon  it  and  his  dark 
eyes  burned  upon  Belle's  sightless  face  with  such  a 
passion  of  love  as  rarely  lasts  beyond  the  fires  of 
youth.  But  there  was  in  it  also  a  fierce  eagerness 
to  be  gone,  as  when  an  eagle  teeters  on  the  edge  of 
the  escarpment  rimming  the  world  and  makes  ready 
for  swooping  flight. 

He  kissed  her  again  and  again  and  studied  the 
curve  of  her  faded  cheek,  the  curls  of  soft  hair  at 
her  temples. 

And  Belle's  expert  fingers  passed  over  his  fea- 
tures, "  reading  "  his  face  before  departure.  When 
he  was  gone  she  would  drop  in  a  chair  and  weep 
like  a  schoolgirl,  but  she  sped  him  now  like  any 
Spartan. 

^^And  when,  John  dear,''  she  asked  anxiously, 
"  will  you  be  back  this  time?  Will  it  be  as  long  a 
trip  as  the  last  one?  " 

The  man  raised  his  eagle's  head  and  looked  out 
through  the  window  across  the  plains.    What  vis- 

114 


VAL  CALLS  115 

ions  he  saw  none  might  know,  but  his  eyes  deepened 
and  glowed  and  he  smoothed  her  hair  absently. 

Presently  he  came  back  to  the  moment. 

"  No,"  he  answered  brusquely,  ^'  not  so  long  this 
time." 

Then  he  kissed  her  again,  motioned  to  Val  to 
come  and  take  her  with  an  imperious  nod  of  his 
head,  put  her  gently  in  the  girl's  arms  and  was 
gone.  The  two  women  stood  so  for  a  long  time, 
listening  to  his  going,  the  sharp  quick  orders  to  this 
and  that  one  of  the  servants  gathered  round  in  the 
patiOy  the  last  instructions  to  Briston,  the  ring  of 
Lightning's  hoofs  on  the  stones,  then  the  long-roll 
of  the  gallop  that  took  the  Boss  of  Paradise  away 
into  the  outer  world  of  which  they  knew  so  little. 
Then  Belle  groped  for  the  chair,  laid  her  head  on 
the  near  table  among  the  books,  and  had  it  out  with 
herself,  while  Val  stood  by  helpless  to  give  her  com- 
fort. 

Why,  she  wondered  with  a  frown,  must  her  dad 
make  these  many  trips,  long  trips  and  far  apart, 
coming,  maybe  once  a  year  and  lasting  from  two  to 
five  weeks?  He  had  made  them  ever  since  she  could 
remember,  and  he  had  always  looked  so  at  parting, 
always  her  mother  had  wept. 

Oh,  well — Belle  would  be  all  right  in  a  few  days, 
would  be  looking  forward  to  his  return,  planning 
little  surprises  for  him,  new  arrangements  of  the 
worn  furniture,  little  new  touches  of  curtains  and 
flowers  in  earthen  jars.  And  then  there  was  much 
to  think  of  beside, — the  new  litter  of  puppies  under 


116  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

the  third  barn  floor,  the  string  of  horses  Perly  and 
Siff  were  going  to  break — and  she  wondered  much 
about  the  stranger  with  the  speaking  face,  and  if  it 
was  true  that  he  could,  as  he  promised,  bring  back 
the  man  whom  Maria  loved. 

Paradise  settled  into  a  sort  of  pleasant  lethargy 
after  the  departure  of  the  master.  The  riders  were 
out  from  dawn  to  dark  and  the  women  in  the  kitch- 
ens cooked  savoury  dishes  that  scented  the  drowsy 
air,  while  a  high  sun  sailed  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and 
the  voice  of  Bluewater  sang  softly  in  the  stillness 
with  a  million  subtle  notes.  Belle  Hannon  was 
already  speaking  of  the  time  when  her  husband 
should  return,  and  Val  spent  many  hours  rocking 
lazily  in  the  gay-fringed  hammocks.  She  was  her 
old  self  again  in  sweetness,  in  her  eager  care  for  all 
the  creatures  of  the  household  and  the  ranch,  but 
deep  down  in  her  heart  she  did  not  cease  to  mourn 
for  the  vanished  Eedstar.  If  her  eyes  swept  down 
the  long  green  field  where  he  was  wont  to  graze, 
she  saw  again  his  regal  form.  Sometimes  at  sun- 
down she  would  cup  her  hands  to  her  lips  and,  giv- 
ing the  two  keen,  long-drawn  whistled  notes,  listen 
wistfully  as  if  from  somewhere  in  the  far  fringes 
of  the  Blind  Trail  Hills  she  must  catch  the  fine 
faint  echo  of  his  ringing  answer. 

But  always  the  vast  silence  of  the  illimitable  land 
was  unbroken,  and  Briston  coming  in  from  the  dust 
and  drouth  of  a  long  day's  ride  would  look  at  her 
pityingly.  He  who  had  been  so  long  at  Paradise, 
who  had  seen  the  girl  grow  up  and  knew  the  depths 


VAL  CALLS  117 

of  her  loving  heart,  knew  now  how  deep  and  aching 
was  her  grief  for  the  gallant  horse. 

^^  VaJ,  girl,"  he  said  to  her  one  night  sitting  idly 
in  the  patio  where  she  swung  beside  the  spring, 
"  there  is  an  old  saying  among  the  Spaniards  which 
means  '  a  nail  drives  out  a  nail.'  The  only  way  for 
you  to  ease  your  hurt  at  Redstar's  loss  is  to  love 
another  horse.  If  you'll  buck  up  an'  quit  that 
caUin'  at  th'  twilight — ^it  gives  me  th'  creeps,  Val — 
I'll  make  a  trip  out  when  John  gets  back  an'  bring 
you  th'  best  an'  fastest  horse  that  money  can  buy." 

Val  reached  out  a  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  fore- 
man's arm. 

She  did  not  know  that  the  steady  pulse  along  that 
arm  missed  one  stroke,  then  went  on  again  at  its 
accustomed  pace. 

"  Tom,"  she  said  tenderly,  ^^  you'd  go  to  Purga- 
tory for  me  if  need  was.  I  know  that.  And  I  love 
you  for  the  understanding  that  is  in  your  heart — a 
real  he-man's  heart,  strong  and  tender  and  kindly 
— and  if  it  would  work,  I'd  say  go.  But  it  won't 
work,  Tom  dear.  You  might  bring  all  the  grand 
horses  in  the  world  and  line  them  up  before  me — 
but  I'd  still  be  searching  for  the  keen  red  face,  the 
soft  and  gentle  eyes.  Redstar  isn't  a  horse  alone — 
he's  an  entity,  an  individual,  a  lover  and  a  friend. 
Do  you  think  any  one  could  bring  me  another  Tom 
Briston  and  say,  '  Give  him  your  affection  '  ?  No. 
As  there  could  never  be  another  friend  to  take 
your  place,  so  there  could  never  be  another  Red- 
star." 


118  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

The  man  was  quiet  for  a  time  while  the  big  stars 
twinkled  in  the  dusky  sky  and  the  tiny  piping  of 
insects  made  a  small  music  in  the  night.  He 
smoked  and  flipped  the  ashes  from  his  ciga- 
rette. 

"  Well,''  he  said  presently,  "  stop  that  callin',  for 
th'  love  of  Pete." 

But  Val  shook  her  head  against  the  hammock. 

"  I  can't,  Tom,"  she  said  miserably,  "  it's  just  as 
if  I  heard  the  Eedstar  calling — calling — calling, 
somewhere  when  the  sun  goes  down  and  I've  got  to 
answer.  It's  in  me  here,"  she  put  a  quick  hand 
against  her  heart,  "  and  must  come  out.  I've  got  a 
strange  feeling  that  he's  penned  and  holden  some- 
where, and  that  he's  breaking  his  gallant  heart  for 
me,  even  as  I  grieve  for  him." 

''  Why,  Val,"  said  Briston,  "  he's  only  a  horse. 
More  like  he's  eatin'  good  red  oats  somewhere,  all 
blanketed  an'  cared  for  like  a  prince — ^for  whoever 
took  him  knows  his  worth." 

At  that  the  girl  sat  up  and  swift  anger  flushed 
her  cheeks,  set  her  eyes  to  sparkling  bodefuUy. 

"That  picture  makes  me  wild!  "  she  cried,  "if 
I  could  see  the  thief  this  minute  I'd  shoot  him  dead 
in  his  tracks  and  never  turn  a  hair !  I'm  all  Han- 
son when  my  own  is  touched." 

Never  again  did  the  foreman  try  to  offer  her 
comfort. 

She  went  about  as  usual  and  to  all  outward  pur- 
poses had  regained  her  gay  spirits — but  when  she 
called  at  dusk  Briston  knew  what  was  in  her  heart 


VAL  CALLS  119 

of  grief  and  uneasiness  and  savage  hatred  of  the 
unknown  thief. 

The  days  passed  and  the  master  had  been  gone 
a  fortnight  when  one  day  Boyce  Clendenning  rode 
in  on  Dollar. 

Val,  seeing  him  from  afar,  met  him  in  the  patio 
{with  smiles,  all  freshly  clad  in  a  starched  print 
dress.  She  thought,  like  Perly,  that  this  handsome 
and  successful  man  was  overly  confident  in  his 
quiet  way,  and  her  father's  outspoken  preference 
for  him  was  in  a  way  against  him — for  what  girl 
ever  finds  entirely  right  the  man  she  thinks  her 
father  favours  for  her  hand? — and  yet  in  honest 
fairness  she  must  accord  him  respect.  She  did  not 
dislike  him,  either,  when  it  came  down  to  cases,  for 
Boyce  Clendenning  was  very  much  a  man  in  a  land 
where  men  must  be  all  of  that  to  prosper. 

"  Hello,  Boyce,"  she  greeted  him,  laying  an  ad- 
miring hand  on  Dollar's  silver  shoulder,  "  this  is  a 
treat — you  coming  so  far  to  see  us.  Or  were  you 
going  by?" 

^^  Hardly,"  said  the  man,  swinging  down  to  take 
off  his  hat  and  extend  his  hand, ''  I  came  because  I 
wanted  to." 

He  certainly  was  a  handsome  chap,  and  no  mis- 
take, thought  Val.  Thick  blond  hair  waved  up 
and  back  from  a  keen  and  open  face  where  the 
"  smartest "  eyes  she  had  ever  seen  smiled  directly 
into  hers.  If  this  man  told  one  he'd  put  a  dime  on 
a  stone  at  the  world's  rim  on  a  certain  date,  Val 
felt  that  one  could  go  there  in  all  confidence,  and 


120  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

the  coin  would  be  where  he  had  promised.  That 
;was  her  inner  way  of  cataloguing  him. 

And  yet,  there  was  lacking  something  to  make 
him  rise  above  the  level  of  handsome  men  in  gen- 
eral— she  didn't  quite  know  what  it  was.  Perhaps 
— ah — it  was  that  his  hair  was  not  black,  now — 
that  his  eyes,  though  blue  as  the  summer  heavens, 
were  not  full  of  sparkle — that  his  face  did  not 
shine  with  reckless  spirit,  like  light  behind  a  cur- 
tain. 

Already,  Val  Hannon,  innocently  and  uncon- 
sciously, was  comparing  men  to  the  mysterious 
stranger  whom  Father  Hillair^  had  not  deigned 
to  explain  further  than  as  ''  Velantrie,  sometime  of 
the  Border." 

Velantrie — the  wind,  the  storm,  the  lightning, 
the  summer  rain  and  the  sunlight — the  quick,  the 
gentle — all  these  had  Val  read  into  his  speaking 
face,  and  she  was  right. 

As  she  led  Clendenning  into  the  depths  of  the 
cool  old  room  Belle  Hannon  rose  with  the  manner 
of  a  duchess  and  smiled  toward  the  sound  of  their 
approach.  The  man  had  heard  of  John  Hannon's 
blind  wife — who  in  the  rangeland  had  not?  —but  he 
had  never  seen  her.  Now  he  looked  at  the  delicate 
beauty  of  her  face,  its  quick,  receptive  intelligence, 
its  high  mark  of  character,  and  knew  why  her 
daughter  was  as  far  above  the  other  girls  of  the 
country  as  the  clouds  above  the  grass. 

He  took  Belle's  hands,  both  of  them,  with  a  sud- 
den pleasant  liking  which  communicated  itself  in- 


VAL  CALLS  121 

stantly  to  the  vibrant  brain  behind  the  hands,  and 
the  two  were  friends  at  once. 

"  This  is  Boyce  Clendenning,  Belle,"  said  Val, 
and  the  man  felt  a  strange  surprise  at  the  girl's 
use  of  her  mother's  first  name.  He  was  to  learn 
that  that  was  one  of  their  playful  intimacies  which 
made  the  friendship  of  this  mother  and  daughter 
so  rare  and  so  perfect. 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Hannon,  "  you  are  the  man 
John  Hannon  likes  above  all  others  among  the 
ranchers,  therefore  you  are  good  and  worthy  of 
regard.     I  shall  like  you,  too." 

Clendenning  laughed,  tossed  his  hat  away  and 
sat  down  to  a  long  and  comfortable  visit. 

He  talked  of  books  and  music  and  the  blind 
woman  glowed  like  a  candle  under  frosted  glass,  for 
she  greatly  loved  these  things.  Shut  forever  in  the 
circle  of  her  dusky  rooms  her  fine  mind  had  closed 
around  these  magic  gifts  to  the  world  at  large  and 
she  had  found  them  good  and  satisfying.  Her  hus- 
band had  always  brought  her  books  when  he  came 
back  from  the  outside  places  and  it  had  been  Val's 
pleasure  and  duty  to  read  them  to  her. 

So  Clendenning  found  her  a  pleasant  field  of 
thought  and  introspection,  touched  with  a  light- 
some humour.  She  played  her  nameless  tunes  for 
him  and  he  listened  in  content,  his  quiet  eyes  on  her 
daughter's  face. 

But  finally  the  conversation  drifted,  as  all  speech 
must  in  the  rangeland,  to  cattle  and  finally  to  rus- 
tlers. 


122  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  that  the  Flying  Y's  Ka3 
trouble?  "  he  asked  idly. 

"  No/'  said  Val  at  once.    "  What?  " 

^'  Lost  eighty  head  of  fat  steers  ready  for  the  driv- 
ing." 

"  Good  gracious !    How?  " 

"  Rustlers  again.  Drove  them  through  the 
Needle's  Eye  into  the  Blind  Trails.  Trail  was 
broad  as  daylight  up  to  the  face  of  the  cliff,  then  of 
course  it  narrowed  and  was  lost  on  the  rock,  for  the 
pass  into  the  hills  is  so  narrow  that  only  two  steers 
can  enter  at  the  same  time.  The  owners  trailed 
their  cattle  there — to  face  two  rifles  sticking  out  on 
either  side  of  the  pass,  a  perfect  guard.  No  man's 
fool  enough  to  deliberately  give  his  life  for  a  bunch 
of  steers,  so  they  went  quietly  back  to  the  ranch. 
But  the  country's  buzzing,  you  bet,  and  I'm  with  it 
heart  and  soul.  I  tell  you  something's  got  to  be 
done  to  discourage  these  open  raids,  or  we  cattle- 
men might  as  well  give  up  the  game.  There's  little 
enough  profit  for  the  year's  work  as  it  is,  and  when 
that  is  lifted  by  a  bunch  of  thieves  it  takes  the  heart 
out  of  us." 

Val's  dark  eyes  flashed,  for  she  thought  of  her  own 
loss,  word  of  which  had  been  noised  about  the  coun- 
try. 

"  I'm  with  you,  too,"  she  said  bitterly,  "  heart 
and  soul.  If  the  ranchers  ride  on  the  rustlers' 
trail  I  want  to  go  along.  I'd  like  to  kill  the  man 
that  took  the  Redstar." 

"  It's  coming,  sooner  or  later,  that  ride/'  an- 


VAL  CALLS  123 

swered  Clendenning.  "  It  must  come,  or  we  lay 
down  our  hands,  beaten.  I've  been  talking  to  the 
Attison  boys  and  Quinlan  and  they  all  favour  or- 
ganization and  short  shrift  for  the  victims  we  may 
catch  with  the  goods.  It  looks  like  the  work  of  the 
Black  Rustler,  that  clever  lifter  whom  none  meet 
and  but  few  have  ever  glimpsed — the  smooth,  silent 
chap  who  works  like  a  machine,  with  neatness  and 
precision,  and  rides  the  fastest  horse  ever  seen  in 
these  parts.  There  are  some  wonderful  stories  afloat 
about  that  horse — a  great  bay  horse,  tall  and  high- 
withered,  seventeen  hands  they  say,  and  so  fast 
that  those  who  have  caught  a  far  glimpse  of  him  say 
it  runs  like  a  super -horse.  There  is  one  yarn  on 
the  Border  that  says  a  posse  had  the  Black  Rustler 
in  sight  once  for  seven  hours,  that  its  horses,  the 
pick  of  that  part  of  the  country,  dropped  out  one 
by  one,  and  that  at  the  last  the  Black  Rustler,  ris- 
ing in  his  stirrups,  waved  a  hand  above  his  head 
and  ran  away  from  the  jaded  bunch  so  fast  that 
they  could  not  believe  their  eyes.  It  must  be  some 
horse,  that.     I'd  like  to  see  it." 

As  he  talked  Val  Hannon's  eyes  became  wide, 
dark  pools  of  retrospection. 

"  My  land!  "  she  said  softly,  "  I  believe  I've  seen 
that  horse — from  the  top  of  Mesa  Grande  one  day 
at  sundown.  I  had  ridden  the  Redstar  up  and  was 
sitting  on  the  rim,  looking  across  the  ranges,  when 
a  band  of  men  came  out  of  the  north  up  Santa 
Leandra  way,  and  one  did  ride  a  wonderful 
horse — a  long  red  horse  that  lay  down  and  ran 


124  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

for  all  the  world  like  Eedstar  himself!  And  the 
rider  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  waved  his  hat  to 
me!'' 

"  Did  he  wear  a  black  mask?  "  asked  Clenden- 
ning,  quickly. 

"  Why,  I  couldn't  say.  He  was  far  and  away  too 
far  off  for  me  to  see  his  face.  I  only  got  the  gen- 
eral outline  and  colour — and  that  mighty  seeming 
of  speed." 

"  It  might  have  been.  There  is  a  whisper  about 
that  he  has  been  in  Santa  Leandra  several  times, 
but  nobody  cares  to  question  the  Black  Rustler. 
Well,  I  think  well  question  him  some  day — at  the 
end  of  a  rope.  It  will  be  a  man-size  job,  all  right, 
for  he  is  both  painstaking  and  thorough  in  his 
methods.  The  owners  of  the  Flying  Y  went  back 
to  the  pass  two  days  later — but  they  came  away 
again,  for  there  were  still  two  rifles  guarding  the 
gate  into  the  hills." 

^'  It's  too  bad  John  isn't  here,"  said  Belle  Han- 
non,  "  for  he'd  be  with  you,  I  know.  He  stands 
for  right  and  order  squarely  and  he's  sore,  sore  with 
the  loss  of  Redstar." 

"  That  is  enough  to  make  any  one  sore,"  said 
Clendenning,  gracefully,  ^^for  the  Redstar,  I'm 
sorry  to  say  as  Dollar's  master,  is  the  best  horse  this 
country  ever  saw.  I  know  this,  though  I've  never 
seen  him  matched.  But  if  Lightning  could  beat 
Dollar,  I  know  that  the  King  of  Hannon's  Red 
Brood  is  matchless." 

'An  hour  later  he  took  his  leave  and  the  two 


VAL  CALLS  125 

women  sped  him  from  the  patio  where  the  sweet 
spring  talked  in  the  stillness. 

^^  Val,"  said  Belle  Hannon,  quietly,  "  I'm  with 
your  dad.  I  favour  Boyce  Clendenning.  He  is  hon- 
est, straight  and  of  fixed  purpose.  If  he  sets  out  to 
catch  the  Black  Bustler,  hell  get  him  sooner  or 
later.  If  he  promises  to  love,  cherish  and  protect  a 
woman,  he'll  do  so  till  he  dies." 

And  she  did  not  know  with  what  utter  prophecy 
she  spoke, 

Val  laughed,  a  ringing  peal,  and  shook  her 
shoulder  playfully. 

"  John  Hannon  had  better  be  getting  back,"  she 
said  lightly,  "  or  his  wif e'U  be  falling  in  love  with 
his  best  friend." 

The  riders  were  coming  in  with  rattle  of  spur 
and  bit  chain,  the  red  veils  were  beginning  to  sift 
down  from  the  blue  infinitude  above,  and  the 
long  twilight  would  soon  be  falling  over  Para- 
dise. 

Val,  standing  alone  in  the  patio  after  Belle  had 
gone  indoors,  looked  down  across  the  empty  fields, 
for  the  Red  Brood  grazed  no  more  without  a  guard, 
and  a  sigh  lifted  her  slim  breast.  She  felt  the  de- 
sire that  came  with  eventide  to  cup  her  hands  to  ^ 
her  lips  and  send  out  on  the  quiet  air  the  two  long 
notes  that  were  wont  to  bring  the  king  sailing  to 
her  up  the  long  levels.  She  tried  to  stifle  it,  to  hold- 
it  down,  but  it  would  not  be  denied.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  could  hear  the  Redstar,  faint  and  far 
away,  calling,  calling  from  the  east.    Always  from 


126  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

the  east  where  the  Blind  Trail  Hills  rose  into  the 
turquoise  sky. 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  answered,  high  and 
shrill,  and  Briston,  riding  down  from  the  north, 
heard  that  call  and  shivered. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  PADRE^S  GARDEN 

THERE  was  a  time  after  Olendenning's  visit 
when  nothing  happened  to  stir  the  quiet  life 
at  the  ranch.  Val  talked  with  the  riders 
about  the  trouble  at  the  Flying  Y  and  Briston  had 
little  to  say. 

In  fact  there  was  an  unostentatious  reticence  in 
their  speech  about  the  whole  affair.  She  did  not 
know  that  every  man-jack  of  them  had  been  filled 
with  a  vague  dismay  over  the  incident  of  the  dance 
hall  at  Santa  Leandra,  nor  that  they  had  listened 
to  faint  whispers  concerning  the  armed  strangers. 

^^  Holy  smoke !  "  said  Perly  the  loquacious,  "  if 
that  there  Velantrie  was  th'  Black  Rustler  an'  our 
Val  saved  his  rotten  hide,  her  name'll  be  all  over 
this  country  an'  I  see  where  this  bunch'll  do  a  lot 
of  fightin'." 

"  Don't  get  excited,"  counselled  Briston,  "  there's 
a  lot  o'  men  ridin'  these  ranges,  comin'  an'  goin', 
an'  there  ain't  nothin'  beyond  ordinary  t'  fix  that 
name  to  Velantrie  that  I  can  see.  True,  he's  got  a 
bunch  of  men  with  him,  an'  I'll  say  that  some  of 
them  don't  look  like  no  mama's  angel  children,  but 
that  ain't  here  nor  there.  Th'  Border's  restless  an' 
there's  many  a  bunch  ridin'  on  its  own  affairs. 
Let's  keep  our  shirts  on.'" 

127 


128  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

But  nevertheless  when  next  he  rode  to  the  dis- 
tant railroad  shanty-town  he  heard  the  tale  of  the 
Santa  Leandra  affair,  garbled  out  of  all  semblance 
to  the  truth,  and,  true  to  Perly's  prophecy,  he, 
Briston,  the  coolest  of  all  the  riders  at  Paradise, 
had  "  one  peach  of  a  fracas  '^  with  a  stranger  from 
the  south  in  the  Silvershine  Saloon. 

Val  heard  nothing  of  this,  for  the  boys  kept  it 
from  her  carefully,  and  Father  Hillair^,  who  had 
all  the  gossip  of  the  rangeland  brought  to  his  hos- 
pitable doors,  kept  it  securely  in  his  wise  old 
head. 

John  Hannon  did  not  return  as  soon  as  they  had 
expected  him,  and  time  dragged  a  little.  Val  rode 
to  the  Mission  many  times,  but  never  again  did  she 
encounter  a  tall  stranger  in  the  dry  garden,  and 
though  she  drew  the  talk  artlessly  to  this  stranger 
a  time  or  two.  Father  Hillair^  was  non-communica- 
tive and  she  learned  no  more  about  him. 

She  helped  the  boys  with  the  breaking  of  the  new 
string  of  horses,  for  John  Hannon's  daughter  was 
better  than  a  lot  of  men  at  that,  and  her  dusky  skin 
burned  a  tawnier  shade  in  the  sun,  while  her  cheeks 
were  like  roses  in  the  sunset.  She  played  her  games 
in  the  patio  with  the  shrieking  brown  babies  and 
read  to  Belle  the  new  books  that  Boyce  Clenden- 
ning  sent.  But  sometimes  she  would  stop  and  look 
away  toward  the  south  whence  had  come  the  man 
with  the  vital  eyes,  and  see  again  his  smiling  face 
in  Father  Hillair^'s  garden. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  the  girl  pensively,  "  why  he 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  129 

don't  seem  like  any  one  else  I  ever  saw.  He — he's 
different,  somehow." 

The  boss  had  been  gone  five  weeks.  August  was 
blazing  on  the  rangeland.  The  heavens  were  high 
and  hard  with  heat  and  the  sun  shone  continually. 
But  always  at  dusk  there  came  out  of  the  south  the 
little  cool  wind  that  whispered  along  the  levels, 
and  the  marvellous  colours  sifted  down  from  infini- 
tude. 

And  then  one  day,  Val,  riding  aimlessly  far  down 
Arroyo  Pecos  way,  came  up  from  the  cool  shade  of 
the  ford  on  Little  Antelope,  and  face  to  face  with 
two  men — Velantrie  on  a  big  white  horse  and  a 
slim  dark  Mexican  with  a  sullen  face. 

Instantly  Velantrie's  face  lighted  with  the  smile 
she  had  not  forgotten,  and  his  broad  hat  came  off 
with  a  graceful  sweep 

"  Miss  Hannon ! "  he  cried,  and  it  was  well  for 
Father  Hillair^'s  peace  of  mind  that  he  could  not 
see  the  look  of  sudden  joy  that  flashed  between 
them. 

"  Mr,  Velantrie ! "  mimicked  the  girl  with  a 
laugh,.  "  it's  been  long  since  we  met  in  the  padre^s 
garden." 

"  Has  it?  "  said  the  man  eagerly  and  simply,  and 
Val  blushed. 

"  Hasn't  it?  "  she  asked  honestly. 

^^  Lord — ^yes,"  said  Velantrie,  softly. 

For  a  moment  they  were  silent,  looking  at  each 
other  with  the  age-old  wonder  that  comes  once  in 
every  life.     Then  the  man  thought  quickly  and 


130  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

sharply  of  the  Church  door — and  the  woman — and 
became  on  the  instant  the  indifferent,  smiling 
stranger. 

Val  saw  the  change  and  became  grave  herself. 

Velantrie  turned  to  the  rider  beside  him,  a  slim, 
good-looking  youth,  scarce  more  than  a  boy,  and 
waved  an  eloquent  hand. 

"  Let  me  present  Senor  Mesos  Pecuento,''  he  said 
gently,  "  of  down  Arguenta  way,  bound  for  the  Mis- 
sion to  work  for  Father  Hillair^  and,  incidentally, 
for  wedlock  in  the  chapel." 

Val  Hannon  blushed  again,  but  the  look  she 
flashed  Velantrie  was  eloquent  of  gratitude  and 
gladness  and  admiration  for  so  successful  a  quest. 

They  spoke  for  a  few  moments  more,  but  the 
spontaneity  was  gone  from  their  meeting,  and  pres- 
ently the  strangers  rode  into  the  Antelope  to 
emerge  to  the  sight  of  the  distant  Mission  gleaming 
palely  in  the  light,  while  Val  Hannon  touched  Red- 
cloud  and  went  on  toward  the  south. 

Velantrie,  strong  on  the  bit  of  his  own  desires, 
went  straight  to  his  destination,  but  somehow  this 
day  he  had  little  taste  for  discourse  with  his  friend 
of  cassock  and  rosary,  and  his  stay  in  the  garden 
was  short — barely  long  enough  to  see  Maria  fling 
herself  and  the  baby  into  the  boy's  arms — which 
opened  eagerly  enough  when  he  beheld  the  two — 
and  to  grip  the  priest's  hand. 

"  Stay,  my  son,"  said  Father  Hillair^  earnestly, 
^^  you  are  a  bringer  of  joy.  Stay  a  while  and  share 
it." 


THE  LURE  OP  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  131 

But  the  other  shook  his  head. 

"  I  think,  padre/^  he  said,  "  that  I  shall  come  but 
little  more  to  this  country.    Perhaps  no  more." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  Why?  ''  he  asked  simply. 

"  Because  it  is  not  well  that  I  should.'^ 

Father  Hillair^  sighed. 

"  No,"  he  said  sadly,  "  it  is  not  well." 

Velantrie  fiddled  with  his  hat  brim. 

"You  know  the  speech  we  had  one  day — con- 
cerning— ah — the  Church  door?  " 

"  I  know." 

"  It  draws,  padre/^  said  the  man  gently,  "  it  and 
— the  things  it  stands  for.    I'll  be  better  away." 

Father  Hillaire's  old  eyes  went  dim  with  a  sud- 
den mist.  He  felt  for  a  tragic  second  the  useless- 
ness  of  all  human  effort,  the  pity  of  the  human 
heart,  erring  and  lost,  groping  without  the  light, 
bound  to  its  fleshpots — be  they  sin  or  love  or  venge- 
ful vows — and  refusing  all  the  good  that  comes 
with  salvation. 

Then  the  martial  spirit  that  had  glorified  his  life 
in  this  far  wilderness  rose  up  in  him  again  and  he 
laid  a  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  wherever  you  are  you  can- 
not escape  my  prayers.  Sooner  or  later  you  will 
come  back — to  the  Church  door." 

But  Velantrie  laughed  and  seemed  to  fling  away 
the  pensiveness  like  a  garment  with  which  he  was 
done. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  recklessly,  "  when  I  have  ful* 


132  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

filled  my  destiny.  Will  you  take  me  in  then — red- 
handed?" 

^^Aye,"  said  Father  Hillair^  tensely  with  mar- 
tial eyes,  "  the  Christ  and  I." 

''  My  God !  "  said  Velantrie,  sober  once  more, 
"  no  wonder  we  poor  riff-raff  love  you — the  refugees 
and  I — the  outcasts  and  the  sinners!  You'd  drag 
us  all  to  Heaven  by  your  cassock's  fringes,  cleansed 
by  the  surplus  of  your  goodness!  Forgive  me, 
padre/' 

And  he  shook  his  hand  and  mounted. 

"  This  white's  a  good  horse,"  he  said,  "  but  I  miss 
The  Comet — ^laid  up  with  a  sprained  tendon.  I 
had  a  wild  ride  a  little  time  ago,  father — a  wild 
ride  even  for  Velantrie — and  there's  another 
ranchero  down  by  Moreno  cursing  my  name.  Also, 
there's  a  poor  peon  a  hundred  miles  away  who  has 
a  roof  over  his  head  and  a  little  band  of  sheep.  But 
The  Comet  paid.  He'll  be  all  right  again,  but  I'll 
rest  him  up  good." 

Then  he  swung  into  the  saddle,  once  more  wrung 
the  priest's  hand  and  was  gone. 

He  rode  straight  back  the  way  he  had  come  and 
he  was  deep  in  thought  as  he  neared  the  fringes  of 
the  Little  Antelope.  Thought  that  concerned  Val 
Hannon.  Velantrie  had  known  many  women,  but 
none  of  them  had  come  into  his  life  for  more  than 
a  fleeting  touch.  He  was,  as  he  had  told  Father  Hil- 
lair^,  a  man  who  mastered  himself.  He  had  ridden 
away  from  much  that  a  weaker  man  would  have 
stayed  for. 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  133 

Women — the  kind  he  could  know,  why,  they  were 
only  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  They  played  small 
part  in  his  scheme  of  things.  To  the  few  good  ones 
he  might  have  known  he  had  steeled  his  heart,  be- 
cause he  had  no  place  in  his  sort  of  life  for  them. 
But  this  girl,  this  sweet,  keen,  dark-eyed  girl — 
why,  there  was  something  about  her  that  made  him 
want  to  stretch  out  a  timid  hand  and  touch  the  far- 
thest ruffle  of  her  dress,  that  made  him  feel  like  the 
dust  under  her  feet.  No.  Velantrie — "  sometime 
of  the  Border  " — Lord,  how  that  had  stuck  in  his 
mind  like  a  bitter  barb ! — Velantrie  must  not  think 
of  this  particular  one  at  all. 

Therefore  he  struck  the  big  white  horse  with  a 
heel  and  rode  through  the  shallow  water — and 
there,  coming  slowly  along,  slouched  gracefully  in 
her  saddle,  as  if  she  idled  on  a  way  she  was  used  to 
making  at  speed,  was  the  girl  herself.  Val  Han- 
non  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  deliberately  wait- 
ing to  cross  trails  with  a  man,  and  as  unconscious 
of  the  fact  as  any  child ! 

At  the  fringe  of  the  little  stream  they  met  face 
to  face  again,  and  the  shadow  of  the  poplars  played 
over  their  young  faces  where  the  eager  light  leaped 
helplessly. 

They  drew  up  by  common  consent  and  sat  still 
for  a  moment  smiling  at  each  other  like  two  chil- 
dren— Val,  the  pride  of  Paradise,  and  Velantrie, 
"  sometime  of  the  Border ! '' 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,"  said  the  girl  simply  at 
last,  **  you  have  brought  life  to  Maria,  I  know." 


134  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

^^And  pleasure  to  myself/'  answered  the  man, 
"  for  it  has  given  me  great  pleasure  to  do  your  will. 
It  is  a  gentle  will  and  kindly." 

"Father  Hillair^,  too,  will  be  full  of  joy  over  the 
erring  sheep  brought  back  to  his  fold,  for  he  had 
grieved  with  and  over  Maria  a  deal.  Where  did 
you  find  Mesos? '' 

"  Not  far  from  his  native  heath.  He  was  hiding 
among  the  jacals.  It  was  no  great  thing  to  find 
him." 

"  But  how  did  you  make  him  come?  "  asked  the 
girl  wonderingly. 

Velantrie  smiled. 

He  did  not  tell  her  that  among  the  poor  Mexi- 
cans across  the  line  the  name  of  Velantrie  was 
magic,  that  in  many  an  humble  hut  it  bore  a  sound 
of  "  deliverer,"  that  it  carried  hope  as  well  as  fear, 
and  that  its  owner  had  merely  to  speak  and  his 
words,  running  afar  among  the  peons,  were  like 
riatas  creeping  on  the  ground  to  bring  back  the 
thing  they  sought. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  told  him  it  would  be — ^better 
for  his  health  if  he  came  along  quietly." 

"  Gun-man?  "  asked  Val,  laughing. 

Instantly  Velantrie  sobered. 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  said,  in  his  slow  soft  speech, 
"  though  I  might  be  on  occasion." 

"  Yes,"  said  Val,  "  I  know.  I  might  be,  too.  My 
dad  is." 

"  Two-gun?  "  asked  Velantrie  with  interest. 

"  No,  one,"  she  answered  proudly,  "  the  best  and 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  135 

quickest  shot  in  this  country.  When  rustlers  drive 
from  this  range  they  leave  Paradise  alone.  That  is, 
until  lately." 

Velantrie  looked  at  the  brown  hand  on  her  pom- 
mel. 

"  Yes/'  he  said,  "  I  think  you  might  be,  also.  Are 
you  like  your  dad? '' 

"  Chip  ofiE  the  old  block.  Look  like  him,  think 
like  him,  act  like  him." 

"  Then  he's  a  mighty  quick  man,  decided  and 
strong,"  said  Velantrie,  admiringly. 

"  You're  dead  right  he  is,"  said  Val,  warmly, 
"  John  Hannon's  the  best  and  biggest  man,  all  ways, 
in  these  parts." 

"  Like  him  a  lot,  I  take  it?  "  and  the  speaker 
smiled  while  his  blue  eyes  searched  her  features. 

"  I  sure  do,  and  so  does  Belle.  That's  my 
mother,"  she  explained,  "  and  they're  all  bound  up 
in  each  other." 

Never  in  her  life  before  had  she  told  a  stranger, 
or  any  one  else,  so  much  about  the  sheltered  life  at 
Paradise. 

A  little  silence  fell  between  them  and  the  girl 
looked  off  across  the  stretches  to  the  south,  while 
the  man  looked  at  her. 

The  curve  of  her  cheek  was  lovely  as  a  cloud  at 
sunset,  as  soft  and  tinged  with  red-gold.  The  soft 
dark  hair  that  kissed  her  temple  was  full  of  moving 
curls.  The  lashes  fringing  her  long  dark  eyes  were 
thick  as  rushes  by  a  watered  place — and  she  was  so 
sweet  that  for  once  in  his  life  the  man  beholding 


136  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

marvelled  at  womanly  perfection.  And  she  was 
good.  Lord,  Lord ! — how  pure  and  wholesome  was" 
that  keen  and  open  face — how  far  a  cry  from  those 
women  he  had  known!  This  was  the  girl  he  had 
dreamed  of  in  those  far-off  days  of  his  youth,  before 
— not  so  far  off  either  by  actual  count,  only  four  or 
five  years  at  best,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  long 
life  had  intervened — a  long,  long  life  of  fights  and 
swift  getaways,  of  desperate  chances  and  wild  rides 
in  the  dark — since  the  black  day  that  had  seen  the 
life  go  out  of  a  man's  eyes  and  which  had  made  him 
— "  Velantrie  of  the  Border.'' 

He  sighed  unconsciously  and  Val  turned  quickly. 

"  What?  "  she  said,  and  he  fiushed  with  pleasure 
at  the  quick  understanding. 

"  Not  a  thing  on  earth,"  he  answered  lightly. 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  cattle  country 
and  the  long  dry  spell,  and  Val  told  him  that  the 
springs  were  holding  out  pretty  well,  and  that  her 
father  hoped  to  drive  early  and  get  the  best  from 
the  stock  he  could.  And  the  siin  went  swiftly  down 
the  heavens  and  the  purple  veils  began  to  weave 
their  magic  on  the  stretches,  while  they  sat  beside 
the  Little  Antelope  and  forgot  that  Time  was,  after 
the  manner  of  youth  since  the  world  began. 

"  My  gracious !  "  said  Val  at  last,  startled,  "  it's 
getting  late!    I'll  have  to  run  for  it  now! " 

"  Looks  like  you  could  do  it  on  this  horse,"  said 
Velantrie,  admiringly,  ''  I  wish  I  had  my  own 
mount  here.    I'd  like  you  to  see  The  Comet." 

"  What's  he  like?  " 


THE  LUEE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  13T 

''  I  couldn't  describe  him.  You'd  have  to  see  him 
to  know." 

"  I  could  say  the  same,"  said  Val,  quickly,  "  for 
I  said  that  rustlers  never  struck  at  Paradise — until 
lately.  They  took  the  greatest  horse  that  ever  ran 
these  plains  a  short  time  back — and  I'd  kill  the 
man  who  did  it  like  I  would  a  snake ! " 

"Rustlers?" 

"Yes — they  say  the  Black  Rustler  himself  has 
been  seen  in  Santa  Leandra  this  summer,  and  I 
make  no  doubt  it  was  he  who  lifted  Redstar." 

"Redstar,"  mused  Velantrie,  "You  call  him 
Redstar?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  mine's  The  Comet.  That's  a  coincidence, 
isn't  it?  Both  meaning  light — the  heavens — a 
star." 

"  Why,  so  they  do ! "  cried  Val,  "  and  from  our 
own  words  they  are  both  great  horses.  What  colour 
is  this  Comet?  " 

"  Deep  blood  bay." 

"  With  a  smoky  black  cloud  across  his  shoulders, 
and  dim  black  dapples  shining  through?  " 

The  smile  faded  slowly  from  the  man's  face. 

"  A  perfect  description,"  he  said,  "  have  you  seen 
The  Comet  at  Father  Hillair^'s  when  I  was  there?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No.    I'm  telling  you  of  Redstar." 

"  Well,  you  might  be  telling  of  the  other." 

"  Can  he  run?  "  persisted  Val. 

"Four  years  back,"    said   Velantrie,    "he   was 


138  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

within  two  seconds  of  the  world's  record  at  New" 
Orleans — he  and  another." 

''  Ties?  " 

^'  Ties — and  blood  brothers.'^ 

"  I  know/'  cried  Val,  "  for  we  have  a  pair  like 
that — Firebrand  and  The  Flame.  We  own  the  Red 
Broodj  you  know,  and  Redstar  was  its  king." 

"Have  you  had  him  long?  " 

"  I  grew  up  on  him/'  said  the  girl  simply,  and 
thought  she  spoke  the  truth,  for  it  had  seemed  far 
back  in  her  short  life,  that  day  in  spring  when  the 
Boss  of  Paradise  had  ridden  the  red  king  in. 

Velantrie,  who  had  straightened  up  in  his  saddle, 
relaxed  again  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of  something 
like  relief. 

He  gathered  the  reins  on  the  white  horse's  neck. 
Val  noticed  the  slim  grace  of  his  long  fingers.  What 
was  there  about  this  man  that  she  did  not  notice? — 
the  brilliance  of  his  eyes,  the  shape  of  his  fine  fore- 
head, the  sweetness  of  the  lips  with  the  upturned 
corners.  She  looked  at  him  with  all  the  dawning 
light  of  an  awakening  in  her  clear  eyes,  and  did  not 
know  it  was  there  for  all  to  see.  Velantrie,  wise  to 
womenkind  instinctively,  caught  something  of  its 
radiance  and  a  cold  chill  went  down  to  his  heart. 
He  actually  shuddered  in  the  warm  air  and  his 
mouth  drew  into  the  close  hard  line  that  was  known 
afar  across  the  Border. 

"Wouldn't  that  be  hell!"  he  thought  swiftly 
with  a  feeling  of  sickness  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach, 
"just  hell!" 


THE  LUKE  OF  THE  PADEE'S  GARDEN  139 

The  look,  the  light  in  her  innocent  face,  flashed 
before  him  a  forecast  of  what  might  have  been  un- 
der a  happier  star.  But  he  had  nothing  in  kind 
with  innocence,  with  the  happiness  that  comes  from 
a  clean  and  honest  love — not  Velantrie  with  his  gay 
and  reckless  record,  his  pledged  future — a  future 
wherein  there  stood,  like  a  black  cross  on  a  blood- 
red  sky,  an  oath  of  vengeance  to  be  redeemed,  and 
then — the  inevitable  end. 

These  things  he  thought,  his  brooding  eyes  upon 
his  pommel.  No.  This  wondrous  woman-crea- 
ture before  him  with  the  light  faintly  showing  in 
her  dusky  eyes  must  have  no  part  or  parcel  in  the 
life  she  had  saved  that  night  at  Hunnewell's. 

Then  he  looked  up — and  encountered  those  sweet 
eyes,  deep  as  evening  stars,  as  pure,  saw  the  red 
mouth  parted  in  unconscious  beauty,  for  the  girl 
sat  leaning  a  little  forward  drinking  in  his  features 
as  one  drinks  unconsciously  the  wonder  of  the  sun- 
set. 

Velantrie  caught  his  breath  sharply.  He  drew 
the  rein  and  the  white  horse  leaped,  ready  for  in- 
stant flight.  The  man  had  meant  to  ride  from  her 
without  a  backward  look.  All  his  life  he  had  mas- 
tered himself.  He  would  do  it  now  and  kill  by  one 
brutal  action  the  divine  thing  he  saw  opening  its 
eyes  to  life  in  the  innocent  heart  of  this  girl.  He 
would — 

But  the  strong  hand  on  the  rein  wavered  for 
once,  the  purpose  in  his  mind  flickered  like  a  flame 
in  wind — and  he  turned  his  glance  across  his  shoul- 


140  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

der.  Val  had  not  moved,  but  the  deep  eyes  had 
changed  a  mere  breath,  as  if  a  wind  touched  water 
with  troubling  fingers.  Fear  was  there,  far  back, 
just  lifting  its  head,  fear  of  loss — and  the  man  saw 
it. 

"  Damn ! ''  he  said  under  his  breath. 

He  brought  the  horse  down  to  quiet. 

"Miss  Hannon,"  he  said,  meaning  still  to  end 
this  new  thing  here  and  now,  "  Miss  Hannon " 

"Yes?''  said  Val,  obediently. 

Velantrie  swept  off  his  hat  and  the  sweat  had 
started  on  his  forehead. 

"  This  is  my  last  visit  to  the  rangeland,"  he  said 
desperately,  "  I'm  leaving  this  part  of  the  country." 

Then  did  the  fear  leap  out,  full-panoplied. 

"Why?"  breathed  Val,  straightforwardly. 

"  Because  I  must." 

"Why?"  she  asked  again. 

"Why? — well — perhaps  I'm  needed  down  yon- 
der," and  he  waved  an  arm  toward  the  distant 
south. 

Val's  fingers  tightened  on  the  saddle  horn. 

"  Perhaps  you're  needed  here,  too,"  she  said  sim- 
ply, "you  seem,  somehow,  to  belong  here.  I — • 
somehow — I  like  to  meet  you  in  the  padre^s  garden, 
to  hear  you  speak." 

Poor  Val!  Many  another  woman  had  liked  to 
hear  Velantrie  speak,  for  there  was  that  in  this 
man's  gentle  voice  which  touched  the  heart  of 
women — the  soft  kindliness  that  made  friends  for 
him  among  dogs  and  children,  which  sounded  like 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  141 

bells  of  doom  sometimes  to  those  who  harmed  the 
weak.    It  had  been  such  a  time  or  two. 

There  was  reason — down  across  the  Border — ^to 
call  him  Don  Quixote  Velantrie,  good  reason. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  is  best  that  I  don't  ride  this 
way  again.  Sometime  ask  Father  Hillair^ — hell 
tell  you  why." 

All  the  light  was  gone  from  the  girl's  face,  a  faint 
paleness  come  instead.  This  man,  this  tall  stranger 
with  the  vital  eyes — this  youth  she  had  known  so 
short  a  time — he  would  ride  away  today  and  she 
would  never  see  him  again.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to 
her  that  it  could  not  be — ^it  could  not  possibly  be. 
She  must  see  him  again.  Why,  it  seemed  ages  since 
that  sharp  moment  in  Santa  Leandra  when  she  had 
looked  past  the  blond  boy  with  the  smoking  gun  in 
his  hand,  and  straight  into  this  man's  eyes.  All 
her  life  the  daughter  of  Paradise  had  had  what  she 
desired. 

Now  she  reached  out  a  hand,  a  simple  action,  as 
one  man  to  another,  and  laid  it  on  his  upon  the 
pommel. 

"  No,"  she  said  straightly,  ^'  don't  go  and  come 
no  more.  We  are  just  getting  to  be  friends.  I 
don't  want  you  to  go." 

Velantrie  caught  the  honest  hand  in  a  clasp  that 
would  have  hurt  an  indoor  woman,  but  Val  Hannon 
returned  it  closely. 

For  a  tense  moment  they  sat  so,  looking  deep  into 
each  other's  eyes. 


142  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

^'  It  is  wrong/^  said  the  man  at  last,  ''  I  have  no 
right  to  be  friends  with  a  girl  like  you.  Not  that 
my  heart  is  wrong  toward  women — that,  at  least,  I 
can  deny  with  honesty — but  I  am  black  with  other 
sins,  Miss  Hannon — sins  among  men." 

VaPs  look  did  not  change. 

"  So  are  lots  of  men  I  know,"  she  said  simply, 
'^  this  country  is  full  of  such.  But  a  man's  heart 
can  be  made  over." 

"  Lord !  Lord !  "  said  Velantrie,  "  I  see  the 
padre's  life-work. 

"  You,  like  the  good  priest,  would  raise  the  sinner 
on  your  very  heart !  But  in  my  case  it  cannot  be. 
There  is  a  reason  why  Velantrie — ^sometime  of 
the  Border ' — cannot  change.  Don't  trouble  about 
me.    I  am  well  and  at  peace  with  myself." 

Gently  he  laid  down  the  hand  he  had  held  so 
tightly  clasped  in  his. 

"  But  I  thank  my  stars.  Miss  Hannon,  for — that 
night  at  HunnewelPs.  I  told  you  then  I  should  not 
forget.  There  are  some  things  that  are  part  and 
parcel  of  one's  life  upon  an  instant.  That  moment 
there  was  one.    If  I  go  I  shall  not  forget." 

^^  But  you  won't  go,"  said  Val,  "  not  to  stay.  You 
— will  come  back — sometimes — to  the  padre^s  gar- 
den?" 

Earnest,  honest,  simple  as  a  child  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  searched  his  features— and  the  man's 
heart  leaped,  thundered  at  his  temples,  set  a  sud- 
den tremble  in  his  lips.  His  blue  eyes  grew  soft 
and  luminous  as  summer  lights  in  windows. 


THE  LUKE  OF  THE  PADRE'S  GARDEN  143 

"  My  God !  "  he  whispered  softly,  ^'  you  and  this 
Father  Hillair^!" 

Val  leaned  nearer  yet,  her  hand  reaching  out  un- 
consciously. 

"  You  will  come — sometimes?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Velantrie,  thickly,  "  sometimes — to 
the  padre's  garden.  There  can  be  no  wrong  in  look- 
ing at  your  face  in  the  shadow  of  the  Mission  walls 
* — though  God  forgive  me  that  I  think  of  either! 
Yes — I  will  come  back." 

And  with  a  quick  and  graceful  motion,  as  if  with- 
out volition,  he  bent  low  from  his  saddle  and  kissed 
that  reaching  hand. 

Then  he  whirled  his  horse  and  was  gone  toward 
the  south — and  Val  Hannon  ran  Redcloud  all  the 
way  to  Paradise,  while  the  purple  veils  draped  all 
the  spaces  of  the  open  country  and  the  mesas  stood 
like  ancient  ghosts. 

There  was  a  wonder  on  the  world,  indeed;  the 
evening  stars  sang  together  in  the  heavens  and  her 
face  was  bright  with  ecstasy  like  the  clouds  that 
fringed  the  sunset. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  CRY  IN  THE  BLIND  TRAIL  HILLS 

RIMMING  the  world  of  the  rangeland  at  the 
east  the  Blind  Trail  Hills  rose  stark  into  the 
heavens,  their  western  face  a  band  of  rugged 
cliffs  that  shut  them  in  completely.  The  pass,  a 
narrow  gateway  cut  by  nature  down  the  sharp  es- 
carpment, let  into  their  great  stone  fastnesses  those 
who  cared  for  any  reason  to  thread  their  lonely 
ways.  Mysterious,  unbelievably  rugged,  these  hills 
spread  away  to  east  and  north  in  uncounted  miles 
of  peak  and  cliff  and  hidden  vale.  Sweet  streams 
watered  them,  falling  with  soft  music  down  their 
worn  and  broken  faces,  while  here  and  there  small 
glades  between  the  cliffs  glowed  green  with  forage 
and  were  starred  with  flowers. 

Far  back  and  to  the  left,  lost  in  a  maze  of  gulches, 
peaks  and  canons,  there  lay  between  the  circling 
walls  a  tiny  valley,  fair  as  the  fields  of  Paradise. 
Blind  cliffs  walled  it  entirely,  coming  abruptly 
down  to  another  natural  gateway,  like  the  outside 
pass.  An  emerald  carpet  clothed  its  level  floor  with 
verdure,  broad  trees  grew  here  and  there,  while 
far  at  the  northern  end  a  deep  spring  of  sweet 
water  lay  like  a  tiny  lake  amid  its  fringing  flags. 

It  looked  like  a  bit  of  Eden  set  down  in  this  pro- 
saic world,  innocent  of  man.    But  man  had  found 

144 


THE  CRY  IN  BLIND  TEAIL  HILLS    145 

it  out  and  left  his  mark — the  solid  gate  of  five  slim 
saplings  set  square  across  the  mouth,  their  ends  let 
into  the  living  rock  itself  where  fitted  slots  had 
been  cut  with  some  sharp  instrument.  These'  sap- 
lings were  strong,  straight,  and  trimmed.  A  neat 
and  thorough  hand  had  done  the  job.  They  rose  in 
the  pass  to  a  height  of  some  six  feet  and  closed  the 
glade  completely. 

They  had  a  sinister  look,  there  in  the  solitude 
between  the  hiding  hills,  as  if  they  made  of  the 
lovely  glade  a  prison. 

And  what  was  this?  A  ragged  fringe  of  gnawed 
and  shining  fibre  clothing  the  two  top  ones  from 
end  to  end  as  with  a  garment ! 

And  what  was  that  rimming  the  green  floor  on 
all  sides?  A  narrow  trampled  path  worn  to  the 
dusty  earth  beneath  the  grass  by  running  feet  that 
circled  tirelessly  the  binding  walls  in  an  endless 
search  for  freedom! 

And  whttt  wondrous  thing  stood  yonder,  picked 
boldly  out  in  the  green  floor  as  the  long  red  veils 
of  the  early  twilight  came  waving  down  the  rocks? 

A  horse — a  great  red  horse,  monster  tall,  mar- 
vellously slim,  his  red  satin  hide  glowing  in  the 
light,  the  mane  on  his  arching  neck  a  flowing  cloud, 
the  black  tail  sweeping  to  his  heels  a  sable  plume, 
his  shoulders  dusky  with  a  darker  shadow  where 
the  dim  black  dapples  shone !  His  great  head  was 
high,  beyond  the  reach  of  most  men,  his  small  ears 
were  pointed  sharply  toward  the  narrow  gateway 
beyond  which  lay  freedom  and  all  he  loved,  his  soft 


146  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

and  gentle  eyes  were  sick  with  longing,  while  the 
delicate  nostrils  that  quivered  with  each  breath 
were  pinched  a  bit,  for  the  kingly  heart  beneath  the 
broad  bay  breast  was  fretting  itself  away. 

And  as  the  twilight  fell  Redstar  the  beautiful, 
Redstar  the  swift,  the  tender-eyed,  the  loving, 
threw  up  his  head  and  sent  a  piercing  cry  ringing 
down  the  canons. 

He  stood  like  a  rock  and  listened,  his  nostrils 
still,  the  breath  held  in  his  sides,  while  the  echoes 
took  it  up  and  made  a  million  voices  of  it. 

When  the  last  faint  note  had  died  away  he  called 
again,  and  again  he  listened,  his  eager  eyes  strain- 
ing into  the  distance  down  the  narrow  defile.  Until 
the  last  red  veil  had  changed  to  blue  and  then  to 
black  on  the  darkening  face  of  the  wall,  he  sent  his 
cry  ringing  in  the  dusk,  held  his  breath  and  lis- 
tened, pointed  his  ears  and  spread  his  thin  nostrils 
for  sound  or  scent  of  answer. 

Alas !    Alas ! 

He  was  far  and  bye  from  the  homing  fields  of 
Paradise,  beyond  all  sound  to  carry  across  the  dead- 
ening miles,  and  of  all  the  friends  who  loved  him 
there  was  but  one  heart  that  quivered  to  that  silent 
call,  and  it  groped  in  the  dull  mazes  of  human  mis- 
understanding. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

DEEP  WATERS 

A  T  Paradise  the  riders  came  in  and  sat  down  at 
/A^  the  long  tables  in  the  dining-room.  They 
were  brown  as  Indians  with  the  summer's 
work  but  they  were  neat  to  a  man,  their  faces  shin- 
ing with  much  good  soap  and  water,  their  hair 
smooth  with  the  ministrations  of  the  combs  hanging 
to  their  chains  beside  the  looking  glasses  in  the 
back  veranda.  It  was  evening  and  the  day  was 
done,  and  they  were  full  of  jest  and  laughter,  ami- 
able with  the  ^pleasure  of  work  accomplished,  a 
pleasant  place  to  lounge  in. 

Of  all  the  merry  crew  Perly  alone  was  missing, 
beside  Jos6  and  Rosy  out  with  the  herd  on  the 
upper  range. 

Perly  had  been  to  Santa  Leandra  and  even  now 
they  could  hear  him  unsaddling  in  the  far  corral, 
for  any  one  could  hear  Perly  from  any  reasonable 
distance. 

"  That  boy,"  said  Val,  smiling  from  the  table's 
head  where  she  sat  in  John  Hannon's  absence, 
"  could  wake  the  dead." 

*^  Right  you  are,  Val,"  said  Dirk,  "  I've  seen  him 
wake  a  town  that  was  ready  for  burial.  Ain't  you, 
»Tom?" 

"  Well,  he  ain't  to  say  a  dead  one  himself,"  an- 

147 


148  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

swered  the  foreman,  "  but  I  like  his  style.  Perly's 
worth  a  dozen  fellers  I  could  blow  smoke  on/'  and 
he  caught  the  brown  fist  that  rose  on  either  side  in 
good-natured  threat,  for  there  was  an  affectionate 
camaraderie  between  the  foreman  of  Paradise  and 
his  riders. 

And  at  that  moment  Perly  himself  came  breezing 
in,  his  face  unwashed,  his  hair  sweated  on  his  fore- 
head, the  broad  leather  flags  of  his  worn  chaps 
waving.  He  stopped  in  the  doorway  and  looked  at 
them  excitedly. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "what  you  think?  Th'  men 
from  th'  Flying  Y  went  back  to  th'  pass — an'  they 
found  them  guns  still  stickin'  out — two  weeks  after 
th'  raid !  They  went  in — an'  them  there  guns  was 
blind,  propped  up  on  rocks,  and  reachin'  out  along 
one  was  th'  arm  of  an  old  coat  stuffed  with  grass ! 
That  there  drive  was  a  one-  or  two-man  trick,  an' 
it  was  th'  Black  Bustler  that  done  it." 

"  Th' hell  you  say !  " 

"Sure  do.  An'  ain't  th'  Flyin'  Y  boys  wild! 
Eighty  head  o'  steers  ready  f er  drivin'— and  a  two- 
man  trick — an'  them  comin'  back  from  th'  pass  like 
a  lot  of  ninnies  scared  out  by  a  lay  like  that !  " 

"  But  they  didn't  know,  Perly,"  said  Briston. 
"  How'd  they  know  them  guns  was  blind?  An'  the 
Black  Rustler  ain't  to  be  fooled  with.  He's  killed 
too  many  men  along  this  Border.  You  know  his 
fame  as  a  gun-man." 

"  Well,  somethin's  goin'  to  be  done  this  time,  or 
I  miss  my  guess.    Boyce  Clendenning's  ribbin'  up 


DEEP  WATERS  149 

a  plan  for  a  ride,  an'  when  that  comes  oflf  I  think 
he'll  have  his  man." 

"  That's  a  man-size  trick,"  said  Briston,  ''  ain't 
no  one  along  th'  line  been  able  to  do  it  for  five  years 
now,  sherifiE  or  big  ranch  or  single  avenger.  I'd 
have  to  see  it  done  to  believe  it." 

^^Well,"  said  Perly,  turning  back  to  wash  up, 
"  I'm  believin'  in  Boyce.  He's  a  quiet  feller,  but  he 
thinks  a  heap,  uses  his  bean  in  other  words,  an'  he 
don't  fly  off  th'  handle.  I  want  t'  be  in  when  th' 
cattlemen  ride." 

"  Yes,"  said  Val,  grimly,  "  and  so  do  I." 

"  But  you  won't,"  said  Briston,  "  I've  heard  you 
speak  like  that  a  time  or  two,  girl,  an'  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  serious  along  that  line.  Loss  or  no 
loss  a  party  like  that  would  be  ain't  no  place  for  a 
woman,  an'  your  dad  will  sit  on  you  good  an' 
plenty  when  he  comes  home  an'  hears  you 
talk." 

"  I  say  so,  too,"  said  Siff,  "  this  here  Val  Hannon, 
now,  she  thinks  she's  next  to  her  dad — that  she's 
mighty  near  a  rider  herself,  bound  to  go  every- 
wheres  we  do." 

"  Oh, — and  so  you  don't  want  me  to  ride  with  you 
— ^your  high  and  mighty  lordships?"  said  Val,  bri- 
dling instantly. 

"  Anywheres  on  earth,"  answered  Siff,  impertur- 
bably,  "  save  an'  except  where  you  shouldn't.  I'm 
with  Tom — fer  onct." 

"  Yes — an'  only  onct,"  said  Briston. 

Talk  went  fast  about  the  rangeland  concerning 


150  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

this  last  atrocity  of  the  mysterious  raider.  Its  very 
simplicity  was  an  affront,  its  boldness  and  dash  an 
insult. 

The  Bar  Star,  the  Circle  A,  El  Rio  Rancho,  they 
were  all  roused  to  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  state 
of  things,  and  Boyce  Clendenning  was  talking 
quietly  of  making  a  stand  once  and  for  all. 

"It's  a  damned  shame  that  cattle  can't  run  in 
safety  on  the  open  range  any  longer,"  he  said,  "  and 
no  ranch  can  guard  its  herds  in  sufficient  strength, 
and  day  and  night.  It  would  break  up  a  cattle 
king." 

But  the  Border  was  a  wide  place,  indeed,  with  a 
thousand  secret  crossings,  and  it  would  take  con- 
certed action,  eternal  vigilance,  and  swift  signal 
service  to  work  out  the  plan  that  was  beginning  to 
form. 

"But  we'll  have  it,"  said  Clendenning,  "we'll 
hear  and  come  and  ride  some  of  these  fine  nights — 
and  we'll  lift  the  shadow  of  the  Black  Rustler  from 
the  country — hang  it  to  the  Crag  Oak  as  our  fath- 
ers did  Peg  Hart  in  '67.  The  law  of  the  range  has 
changed  but  little  since  those  days — caught  with 
the  goods,  convicted.  We'll  catch  the  Black  Rus- 
tler so.    We'll  be  sure,  and  then  we'll  act." 

And  the  feeling  spread  that  perhaps  Clendenning 
could  do  what  he  promised. 

Val  Hannon  began  to  sing  about  the  rooms  of  the 
ranch-house  as  she  had  not  done  since  the  black  day 
which  had  seen  the  Redstar's  loss.  Not  that  she 
had  forgotten  the  king.     She  would  never  forget 


DEEP  WATERS  151 

him — not  in  a  thousand  years.  Only  her  own  heart 
knew  the  restlessness  that  gripped  her  when  the 
crimson  veils  sifted  down  the  long  slopes  of  the 
twilight  and  it  seemed  that  she  could  hear  him 
calling — calling  from  the  Blind  Trail  Hills.  But 
something  within  her  bade  her  wait  and  hold  her- 
self with  patience.  Somewhere,  deep  within  her 
consciousness,  there  was  a  strange,  abiding  faith 
that  sometime,  somehow,  she  would  hear  the  long- 
roll  of  his  running  feet,  know  the  splendour  of  his 
matchless  speed  again.  What  it  was  that  prompted 
this  she  could  not  have  told — she  felt  it,  that  was 
all. 

And  in  the  meantime  a  new  glory  seemed  to  sit 
upon  the  summer  world,  to  clothe  the  heavens  with 
mystic  beauty.  For  the  hand  that  Velantrie  had 
leaned  from  his  saddle  to  kiss  was  conscious  of  that 
caress  in  every  pulsing  vein.  The  girl's  eyes  were 
sometimes  drowsy  with  that  memory,  her  soft  lips 
parted  with  the  wonder  of  it.  A  fear  was  in  her  for 
the  man's  safety  in  the  oblivion  of  that  distant 
Border  to  which  he  rode,  a  trembling  hope  and 
eagerness  for  his  return  to  Father  Hillair^'s  gar- 
den. And  she  did  not  know  what  all  these  things 
portended. 

But  there  was  one  at  Paradise  who  watched  her 
with  anxious  eyes  and  troubled  heart — Briston, 
who  had  seen  the  girl  grow  up  and  loved  her  in  a 
half-paternal  way. 

"There's  somethin'  new  come  to  her,"  he  told 
himself,  smoking  in  the  dusk  beside  the  talking 


152  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

spring,  "  now  what  th'  hell  can  it  be?  Where's  she 
ben  to  find  it?"  and  he  thought  uneasily  of  that 
night  at  Hunnewell's. 

He  made  a  few  gentle  probes  into  Val's  confi- 
dence, but  for  once  in  his  knowledge  of  her  he  got 
nowhere,  found  nothing  he  wanted  or  did  not  want 
to  know.  Unconsciously  she  was  silent,  alert, 
guarding,  as  woman  has  been  since  time  was  when 
the  depths  of  her  heart  are  stirred.  And  that  those 
depths  were  stirred  at  last  for  the  first  great  time, 
attested  this  profound  surge  within  her,  this  divine 
light  that  changed  the  world  completely. 

Val  Hannon  was  her  father's  daughter.  John 
Hannon  had  loved  once — and  with  every  fibre  of 
his  heart,  brain  and  body. 

She  did  not  know  it  yet,  but  every  faithful  nerve 
and  pulse  within  her  was  awakening  to  the  gentle- 
ness and  vital  charm  of  the  man  from  Oblivion 
whose  reckless  blue  eyes  were  beginning  to  hold 
such  a  keen  dismay  when  he  looked  at  her. 

And  so  it  was  that  she  rode  more  often  to  Refugio 
and  sat  in  Father  Hillaire's  garden.  That  sharp 
and  kindly  man  studied  her  with  more  distress  than 
did  Briston,  for  he  knew  a  sad  deal  more. 

Maria's  joy  and  her  returning  health  were  a  deep 
happiness  to  Val.  Dusky  roses  were  beginning  to 
bloom  in  the  wasted  cheeks  and  the  troubling  cough 
was  lessening — so  wondrous  a  thing  is  love!  As 
for  Mesos,  he  was  making  himself  a  good  hus- 
band, working  for  the  padre  among  the  herds,  the 
sheep  and  the  horses. 


DEEP  WATERS  153 

The  fat  cherub  seemed  to  take  a  hold  on  his 
shiftless  heart  and  Maria  to  come  back  to  her  right- 
ful place  therein,  and  all  was  well  with  the  three. 
How  much  of  this  was  due  to  natural  causes  and 
propinquity  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say — or  how 
much  was  due  to  that  veiled  threat  of  Don  Quixote 
Velantrie  of  the  Border,  whom  all  peons  knew,  if 
not  by  sight,  by  the  running  word ! 

Val  talked  with  the  women  in  the  kitchens, 
played  with  the  brown  baby,  and  lounged  in  the 
deep  old  chairs  in  the  shadow  of  the  Mission  walls, 
but  ever  her  dark  eyes  turned  down  across  the 
southern  plains,  and  it  seemed  she  listened  for  the 
sound  of  horse's  hoofs. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Father  Hillair^,  one  day, 
"  are  you  happy?  " 

The  long  brown  orbs  flashed  up  at  him  with  so 
swift  and  tell-tale  a  light  that  the  wise  priest  was 
answered. 

"  Yes,  father,'^  she  said  simply,  "  I  am — ^but  for 
one  thing." 

The  other  sighed. 

"  You  have  known  me  all  your  life,  Val,"  he  said, 
"have  I  ever  advised  you  wrongly  in  all  that 
time?  " 

"  No,  father,"  she  said  wonderingly. 

"Would  you  listen  to  me  now — ^if  I  advised 
something  that  might — make  you  less  happy?" 

"  I  should  listen  and  heed  you,  father,  if  I  were 
dead,"  said  the  girl  gravely. 

For  a  long  time  Father  Hillair^  looked  out  along 


154  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

the  land,  his  fingers  tapping  the  worn  top  of  the 
table. 

Then  he  sighed  again  and  shook  his  silver  head. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  murmured,  ''  perhaps  'tis  just  as 
well.  As  I  said  once  before — it  is  in  higher  Hands 
than  mine.'' 

"  Eh?"  queried  Val. 

"  I — was  only  testing  your  loyalty,  dear  child. 
I  meant  nothing." 

And  then,  one  day  a  little  later,  Velantrie  rode 
into  the  garden  on  the  good  white  horse — and  he 
was  doubly  answered,  for  the  look  that  leaped  into 
Val  Hannon's  face  was  the  "  light  that  never  was 
on  land  or  sea  "  and  she  rose  from  her  chair  and 
went  to  meet  the  stranger  as  helplessly  as  the 
needle  to  the  steel. 

The  man  dropped  from  his  saddle  to  strike  a  palm 
to  hers — and  for  once  in  their  friendship  with  him 
they  had  both  forgotten  the  padre  of  Refugio. 

When  they  turned  to  him  the  priest  saw  two 
things  instantly — the  joy  of  Val,  the  dawning 
struggle  of  the  man. 

''  Father,"  said  Velantrie,  straightly,  "  I  am  in 
deep  waters." 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  I  merely  turn  my  eyes  to  the  fair  shores  for  a 
fleeting  comfort — ere  I  drift  out  to  sea,  beyond  all 
hope." 

There  was  a  desperate  longing  in  the  words,  a 
depth  and  wistfulness,  that  gripped  the  old  man's 
heart* 


DEEP  WATERS  155 

He  turned  from  them  without  a  word,  pacing  the 
far  end  of  the  garden  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back  and  his  rosary  swinging  at  his  knee.  Val 
Hannon  listened  to  this  mystic  speech  open-lipped, 
for  she  did  not  understand.  Then  Velantrie  took 
her  hand  for  a  moment  and  smiled  down  at  her — 
and  it  was  as  if  she  had  known  him  always. 

"  You  did  come  back !  "  she  said. 

''  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  the  memory  of — Jose- 
phina's  frijoles — drew  me  afar." 

And  they  both  laughed  at  the  plain  delusion, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  young,  sat  down  beside  the 
table  and  talked  of  a  thousand  lightsome  things. 
The  look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  eager,  true,  believing, 
was  like  a  hand  on  the  man's  heart,  drawing  out  its 
truth,  but  not  for  a  thousand  worlds  would  he  have 
spoken  one  serious  word  this  day,  have  let  her 
know  the  consternation  there  was  in  his  inner  soul. 

He  kept  the  speech  to  the  commonplace,  the 
pleasant  badinage  of  friends,  and  talked  of  far 
places  and  distant  towns — but  nothing  on  earth 
could  have  silenced  his  blue  eyes,  nor  the  tell-tale 
tightening  of  his  lips  from  time  to  time  when  their 
smile  became  too  soft. 

Velantrie  was  a  man  who  mastered  self,  and  he 
meant  to  do  just  as  he  had  told  the  father — look 
for  a  short  time — he  meant  to  make  it  short — per- 
haps a  trip  or  two  more — at  the  fair  green  shores 
before  he  drifted  out  for  good  and  all. 

But  ah,  it  was  a  dear  dallying,  there  in  the 
padre's  garden,  for  every  precious  moment  piled 


156  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

high  the  load  of  pain  this  sweet  keen  girl  would 
bear  when  he  came  no  more — and,  man-like,  he  did 
not  think  of  that.  He  thought  only  of  the  wondrous 
memory  he  would  carry  with  him  into  the  dark 
places  of  the  future. 

So  he  talked  with  her,  there  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Church,  his  lips  curving  in  the  gentle  smile  that 
marked  him,  his  blue  eyes  sparkling,  his  long  fin- 
gers, stained  with  a  thousand  cigarettes,  fiddling 
with  the  hat  that  hung  on  his  knee.  His  keen  face 
was  full  of  expression.  He  played  with  fire,  that 
he  knew,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  was  due 
to  be  burned  thereby,  but  the  cost  of  the  joy  he  felt 
this  moment,  be  it  what  it  would,  would  be  gladly 
paid  in  his  heart's  blood  of  longing  when  he  came 
no  more  to  the  rangeland. 

He  was  a  strong  man,  this  slim  brown  chap  with 
the  mysterious  record,  strong  and  very  quietly  as- 
sured. There  were  lines  in  his  handsome  face  which 
showed  that  he  would  set  him  a  goal  and  cleave  to 
it,  come  what  might.  So  now  he  took  the  cup  that 
the  moment  held  out  to  him,  drank  it  to  the  last 
sweet  drop — and  knew  that  it  held  everlasting  re- 
gret for  him,  the  unquiet  of  a  thousand  nights  un- 
der alien  stars — if  he  should  live  so  long.  But 
then — there  was  no  surety  that  Velantrie  would 
live  from  any  dawn  to  any  dark. 

So — he  looked  into  Val  Hannon's  eyes,  and  his 
own  blue  ones  said  ^^I  love  you"  with  every 
glance,  while  his  lips  spoke  trifles  and  laughing 
jests. 


DEEP  WATERS  157 

At  last  he  rose  and  took  his  leave  and  the  two  in 
the  garden  watched  him  go. 

As  he  swung  from  the  gate  VaPs  eyes  begged 
mutely  "  You  will  come  back?  '^  and  he  hesitated — 
then  flashed  ''  I  will." 

Father  Hillaire  stood  in  the  gate  and  sadness  sat 
upon  him  like  a  garment,  and  the  girl  touched  him 
twice  before  he  turned. 

"  What  is  it,  father?  '^  she  asked  anxiously.  But 
he  shook  his  head  again. 

"  Nothing  that  I  can  speak  of/'  he  said. 

And  all  the  way  home  to  Paradise  she  troubled 
over  the  vague  speech — what  time  she  could  take 
from  the  glowing  dreams  that  peopled  the  high 
heavens  and  covered  the  world  with  light. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  STIRRING  TALK 

JOHN  HANNON  came  back  to  Paradise.  In  the 
gold  and  crimson  lightwash  of  a  summer's 
dusk  they  heard  the  far,  faint  sound  of  horse's 
hoofs,  and  Belle,  whose  hearing  was  marvellously 
acute,  caught  it  first. 

She  rose  from  a  chair  in  the  shaded  patio  and 
held  out  a  hand  for  silence. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  and  Val  and  Briston,  who 
were  talking,  became  quiet.  Perly's  cigarette 
trailed  off  his  under  lip  as  he  listened,  for  they 
all  acknowledged  Belle's  superior  ears. 

"  It — '^  she  strained  her  every  faculty  for  a 
tense  second,  then  her  face  seemed  to  break  in  a 
thousand  places  to  let  her  spirit  flash  out — "it's 
Lightning's  stride ! "  she  cried,  "  it's  John !  " 

If  she  had  said  "  It  is  the  Millennium ! "  herself  a 
martyr  hanging  on  a  Roman  cross,  the  words  could 
have  held  no  more  of  glory. 

"  Ah !  "  she  breathed  again,  "  It's  John !  " 

And  it  was  John — John  Hannon  in  the  flesh,  who 
rode  straight  to  the  patio  and,  swinging  stiffly  from 
his  saddle,  caught  her  to  his  breast.  He  neither 
looked  at  nor  spoke  to  any  other  for  a  time — he  held 
this  woman  whom  he  loved  upon  his  heart  and  said 

168 


THE  STIRRING  TALK  159 

no  vord  to  any.  Between  these  two  none  were 
needed. 

But  Belle's  hands  trembled  on  his  shoulders  and 
her  transfigured  face  was  white  as  milk.  She  clung 
against  him  with  all  her  strength  and  the  breath 
fluttered  on  her  lips  with  ecstasy.  And  presently 
the  boss  swung  her  around  in  the  bend  of  his  arm 
and  held  out  a  hand  to  the  foreman. 

"  Well,"  he  said  pleasantly,  ^^  how's  everything?  '^ 

"  Fine,"  said  Briston,  gripping  the  outstretched 
hand,  "fine  as  silk!  Glad  you're  back,  though, 
John." 

With  a  long  sweep  of  his  huge  arm  John  Hannon 
caught  his  daughter  and  brought  her  in  against  him 
on  the  other  side. 

Val,  contained  as  himself,  but  smiling  with  deep 
joy,  laid  her  soft  fingers  over  his  big  hand  and 
gripped  it  hard.  The  long  dark  eyes  she  turned  up 
to  him  were  his  own  to  the  last  sweep  of  lash,  the 
last  crinkle  that  attended  them  in  laughter. 

"  It's  been  a  long  time,  old  man,"  she  said  affec- 
tionately, "  and  your  women  have  been  true  to  you. 
They've  watched  the  trails  at  dawn  and  dusk — 
they've  fairly  ached  to  see  your  face,  sometimes." 

With  one  of  the  rare,  the  very  rare,  caresses  that 
passed  between  them  John  Hannon  bent  and  kissed 
his  daughter's  cheek.  Then  he  turned  to  the  riders 
who  came  clumping  in  along  the  stone  flags,  shak- 
ing hands  and  demanding  news  of  the  ranch. 

To  Jos6,  who  came  quietly  reaching  for  Light- 
ning's rein,  he  gave  a  pointed  look  and  a  sharp 


160  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

word  of  direction.  It  was  needed,  for  the  beautiful 
gelding  stood  in  the  dusk  with  hanging  head  and 
dull  eyes,  his  erstwhile  sleek  coat  caked  with  dust 
and  cut  by  trickling  sweat.  His  slim  legs  trembled 
with  fatigue,  his  nostrils  shook  with  the  heavy 
breaths  that  rattled  in  his  sides. 

"Great  Pete,  John,"  said  Perly,  wonderingly, 
"  but  you've  put  th'  red  boy  through !  Th'  Black 
Eustler  ben  chasin'  you?  " 

The  boss  laughed  and  ran  a  hand  through  his 
thick  grey  hair,  while  he  tossed  his  heavy  hat 
away. 

"  Not  exactly,  but  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home. 
Ben  gone  long  enough — eh,  Belle,  my  girl?  " 

"  Oh,  John ! ''  said  Belle,  and  the  word  was  elo- 
quent. 

"An'  as  I  said  once  before,"  he  continued, 
"there's  somethin'  by-ordinary  in  that  Lightnin' 
horse.  I'd  stake  a  lot  on  him  if  I  was  bein'  chased, 
for  he's  got  th'  wind  an'  th'  stayin'  stuff  of  th'  Red- 
star  himself,  if  not  the  speed.  I'd  stake  a  lot  on 
him." 

Then  his  women  laid  hold  on  the  Boss  of  Para- 
dise and  carried  him  into  the  depths  of  the  cool  old 
house  and  there  was  much  running  of  feet,  and 
swift  orders  and  the  stir  of  deft  hands  in  the 
kitchen,  while  a  white  cloth  was  laid  on  a  little 
table  in  the  living-room,  for  they  must  needs  feed 
him  at  once  and  bring  him  a  basin  of  water  and  a 
fresh  towel.  Belle  opened  the  collar  of  his  shirt 
with  her  own  hands  and  brushed  the  hair  from  his 


THE  STIRRING  TALK  161 

forehead  and  her  soft  voice  was  busy  with  the  do- 
ings of  their  little  world  all  the  while. 

Val  looked  on  with  smiling  eyes  and  she  was  very 
glad  indeed.  It  was  a  wonderful  world,  she  thought 
to  herself,  and  Paradise  was  the  most  wonderful 
spot  in  it — unless — unless  it  was  Father  Hillair^'s 
garden  beneath  the  Mission  walls. 

While  the  master  ate  with  a  hearty  zest  they  told 
him  all  that  had  happened  in  his  absence,  even  to 
the  raid  of  the  Flying  Y  and  the  driving  of  the 
eighty  fat  steers  into  the  Blind  Trail  Hills,  of  the 
dummies  that  had  guarded  the  pass,  and  of  the 
slow  rage  of  the  cattlemen  against  the  Black 
Rustler. 

John  Hannon  listened  attentively. 

"  Boyce  Olendenning's  at  the  head  of  things,^' 
said  Belle,  ^^and  what  that  man  undertakes  he'll 
well-nigh  put  through.  I've  met  him,  John — he  was 
here  one  day — and  I  hold  with  you  concerning  him. 
He's  a  real  man  and  no  mistake." 

"  Yes,"  said  Val,  humorously,  "  it's  a  mighty  good 
thing  you're  home,  dad.  I  had  to  hold  her  to  keep 
her  from  following  him  off.  She  almost  fell  in  love 
with  Boyce." 

"  Why,  you  story  teller !  "  cried  Belle,  indig- 
nantly under  her  own  laughter,  "  John,  don't  listen 
to  this  young  upstart.  But  you  know  what  you  have 
always  told  me  of  this  boy — of  his  strength  and 
earnestness.  And  I  think  you  are  right.  He  is 
strong  and  he  is  very  determined.  I  saw  that  about 
this  Black  Rustler  affair.    You  mark  my  words  that 


162  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

if  the  Rustler  ever  hits  this  country  again,  Boyce 
Clendenning  will  get  him." 

John  Hannon's  dark  eyes  dropped  to  the  white 
table  before  him  and  neither  woman  saw  or  felt  the 
sudden  flame  of  fire  that  flared  in  them.  It  was  a 
momentary  flash  of  mad  excitement,  such  as  some- 
times shows  in  the  eyes  of  a  drunkard  or  a  lunatic. 
If  John  Hannon  wanted  the  Black  Rustler  caught 
for  any  reason,  personal  or  general,  he  might  have 
felt  the  portent  of  the  woman's  speech,  have  seen 
the  vision  of  its  fulfilment. 

The  talk  drifted  to  other  things  and  presently 
Fanita  came  soft-footed  to  remove  the  tablecloth, 
while  Belle  went  to  the  old  piano,  and  the  master 
sank  back  in  his  own  deep  chair  with  his  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips.  His  eyes  rested  on  his  wife's  face 
as  if  they  would  devour  it  feature  by  feature,  while 
he  listened  in  ineffable  content.  He  was  very  proud, 
this  master  of  the  rancho^  proud  of  his  holdings,  of 
the  deep  old  house  and  what  it  sheltered.  Proud 
of  this  woman  whose  heart  and  soul  were  so  fine 
and  white,  proud  of  the  daughter  she  had  given  him, 
flesh  of  her  flesh  and  soul  of  her  soul.  Val  Hannon 
was  the  best  thing  in  the  rangeland  in  point  of  in- 
tellect, character  and  body.  Beauty  of  brain, 
beauty  of  heart,  beauty  of  vital  young  form,  these 
she  had  abundantly  and  her  father  gloried  in  her 
superiority  more  than  any  one  living  knew.  His 
pride  centred  in  her  more  than  in  any  other  of  his 
possessions.  Not  his  love — that  reached  its  pinna- 
cle in  Belle. 


THE  STIRRING  TALK  163 

But  Val,  the  Pride  of  Paradise — ah,  she  was  well 
worth  the  thrill  of  possessed  supremacy  that  stirred 
this  strange  man's  heart  at  beholding  her.  His 
daughter,  his  horses,  his  range  and  his  fields — his 
deep  blue  springs  and  his  countless  cattle — they 
filled  him  with  so  fierce  a  joy  that  his  eagle  eyes 
were  wont  to  fire  at  thought  of  them. 

The  best  in  its  line — that  must  John  Hannon 
have  or  burn  with  humiliation.  And  that  did  his 
women  believe  in.  They  believed  in  him,  first  and 
foremost,  then  in  his  kingly  right  and  standing  in 
the  cattle  country.  They  believed  in  Hannon  supre- 
macy down  to  the  ground,  unconsciously,  simply, 
because  he  stood  for  it.  Belle  believed  in  it  blindly 
with  a  gentle  obstinacy,  but  Val  with  a  tentative 
fear.  She  had  once  spoken  to  Belle  of  this  fear  and 
of  Father  Hillair^  who  had  no  pride,  and  whose 
treasures,  laid  up  in  Heaven,  were  so  great. 

And  all  Paradise  believed  in  it.  All  that  is,  save 
Briston  the  foreman.  Tom  Briston  had  been  longer 
on  the  rancho  than  any  other  and  he  smoked  many 
a  quiet  pipe  and  thought  long  thoughts  of  his  own. 
But  what  he  thought  none  knew,  least  of  all  the 
boss  himself. 

In  Santa  Leandra  there  was  beginning  to  stir  a 
hidden  speech.  When  next  the  Boss  of  Paradise 
rode  in  to  town  he  heard  a  bit  of  it,  veiled  and  cov- 
ered, but  to  a  range  man  entirely  understandable. 
It  felt  the  pulse  of  every  cattleman,  and  it  felt  John 
Hannon's  and  was  satisfied. 

"  I'm  with  the  movement,"  he  said  steadily,  his 


164  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

keen  eyes  giving  back  glance  for  glance  to  those 
who  spoke. 

Dyke  Attison  was  in  that  day  and  he  listened 
with  a  grim  f rown,  for  his  right  arm  still  hung  use- 
less. 

"  I'd  have  V  see  it  first/'  he  told  Sanchez  later, 
"  I'm  still  believin'  in  magic." 

Brideman,  big,  burly,  blond  and  thick  with 
money,  heard  the  remark  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  genially,  "  John  does  seem  t'  have 
it,  that's  a  fact.  An'  yet,  you  know,  th'  Black  Rus- 
tler struck  Paradise  at  last  an'  when  he  did  he  hit 
it  hard,  magic  or  no  magic,  fer  that  there  Redstar 
horse  was  Hannon's  one  best  bet." 

''  If  he  rides,"  said  Dyke,  stubbornly,  "  I'll  be- 
lieve— a  little — an'  not  till  then." 

And  Brideman's  deep  guffaw  filled  the  narrow 
street  as  he  slapped  the  speaker  on  the  back  with  a 
huge  and  hairy  hand. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  guess  it  don't  matter  much 
to  th'  man  from  Paradise  whether  any  one  believes 
— in  magic — or  not." 

Lolo  Sanchez  passed  that  moment  with  a  glance 
of  her  black  eyes  for  every  man  in  sight  and 
Brideman  looked  after  her,  his  bearded  face 
alert. 

"  That  girl  o'  yours,  Sanchez,"  he  said  insolently, 
"  is  magic,  all  right." 

The  Mexican  shifted  on  his  feet  and  reached  for 
a  paper  to  roll  a  cigarette.  His  thin  brown  face, 
intelligent   and   quiet,   changed   subtly.    He  had 


THE  STIRRING  TALK  165 

never  forgotten  that  day  of  high  play  at  Hunne- 
weirs  when  Brideman  had  invited  the  girl  in 
against  his  command. 

"  Yes,  Senor,"  he  said,  "  she  is.  Bitter  magic. 
Some  day  she  will  stir  up  trouble  for  some 
one." 

That  was  nothing  new.  All  Santa  Leandra 
knew  that.  Already  she  had  set  two  youths  of  the 
town  at  swords'  points,  had  parted  Bar  Barret  and 
his  wife,  and  witness  the  night  of  the  dance  when 
the  blond  boy  had  so  nearly  shot  the  stranger  from 
the  Border.  Yes,  Lolo  was  "  bitter  magic  "  indeed, 
as  one  man  of  the  group  was  to  find  out  on  a  day 
in  the  dim  future. 

At  Paradise  the  talk  of  the  stirring  among  the 
ranchers  was  daily  diet.  Perly,  loquacious  and 
open-eyed,  gathered  all  he  could  from  riders  on  the 
range  and  hashed  it  all  over  of  nights  in  the  lee  of 
the  bunk-house  where  the  cowboys  lounged  and 
smoked. 

The  boss  heard  and  listened,  and  his  eyes  took 
stock  of  every  man  in  his  outfit. 

Then  Boyce  Clendenning  rode  over  again, 
brought  Belle  some  more  books,  accepted  the  new 
ones  her  husband  had  brought  her  in  his  saddle- 
bags in  exchange,  and  talked  long  and  earnestly 
with  the  rancher.  They  sat  out  in  the  patio  and 
spoke  alone  together,  for  Val  was  out  on  Dawn- 
light  and  Belle  had  due  regard  for  the  master's 
dignity  in  heavy  matters.  The  plans  for  catching 
and  hanging  a  man,  be  he  ever  so  black  and  guilty, 


166  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

were  not  things  for  a  woman's  ears  to  her  way  of 
thinking — and  she  regretted  Val's  eagerness  to 
see  them  consummated. 

But  John  Hannon  was  grimly  with  Clendenning, 
hand  and  heart,  it  seemed. 

"  It  will  be  a  man-size  job,  John,"  said  the 
younger  man  earnestly,  "  and  some  one's  likely  to 
get  killed,  for  we  all  know  the  Black  Rustler's  fame 
as  a  gun-man.  There  was  the  posse  at  Clehollis — 
three  men  picked  off  like  a  top.  There  was  the  run- 
ning fight  with  that  rancher  of  Amano — a  brave 
man  and  a  pity  he  had  no  help — which  left  him  dead 
for  the  others  to  find.  There  was  the  great  fight  in 
that  saloon  across  the  Border  when  the  Rustler 
cleared  the  bar-room  and  took  the  money  from  the 
till  and  got  away  with  it.  The  one  thing  about  this 
man  is  his  wonderful  courage.  In  all  the  tales  they 
tell  of  him  this  thing  shines  out  like  a  star — his 
hard  personal  courage  that  seems  to  look  for  danger 
and  to  glory  in  it.  When  we  corner  the  Black  Rus- 
tler the  rangeland  is  due  for  the  greatest  fight  it 
ever  saw,  and  to  lose  some  of  its  citizens.  But,"  he 
added  quietly,  '^  we'll  corner  him  if  he  ever  ventures 
in  here  again  and  we'll — lose  the  citizens.  It's  a 
pity  you  haven't  the  Redstar,  John,  for  we'll  need 
the  best  and  fastest  horses  we  can  muster  when  this 
great  race  comes  off.  You  know  what  they  say 
about  the  horse  he  rides,  that  it's  the  best  the  Bor- 
der ever  saw." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannon,  knocking  out  the  dottle 
from  his  pipe  and  watching  the  red  sparks  die  on 


THE  STIRRING  TALK  167 

the  stone  flags  at  his  feet,  "  I  know — and  I  wish  I 
had  the  Redstar." 

That  peculiar  savage  light  glowed  for  a  second 
in  his  covered  eyes. 

"But — I  still  have  Lightning,  an'  he's  worth 
stakin'  on.  Lightnin's  fair-to-middlin',  you  know, 
Boyce." 

And  he  smiled  genially  at  his  friend.  The  rivalry 
of  the  horses  was  a  friendly  sore  between  them. 

"Yes — and  you'll  need  him,"  said  Clendenning 
with  conviction,  "  for  when  this  race  comes  off  it's 
going  to  be  the  best  of  its  kind  and  we  all  want  to 
be  in  on  it." 

"  You're  right,"  said  the  boss  quickly,  while  his 
face  showed  for  the  first  time  a  flame  of  excite- 
ment, "  it  will  be  all  of  that — an'  I'll  be  there." 

Clendenning  rose,  holding  out  a  hand. 

"  Your  amazingly  wonderful  wife  was  lamenting 
the  other  day  that  you  might  not  get  back  in  time. 
She  thinks  you  alone  could  catch  the  Black  Rustler, 
John,  so  bound  up  in  you  is  she." 

For  a  second  the  light  in  the  master's  face  flick- 
ered.   Then  he  laughed. 

"  Maybe  I  could,"  he  said  arrogantly  with  a  flash 
of  Hannon  pride.  Then  he  shook  hands  and 
watched  the  young  rancher  ride  away  on  Dollar. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ON  THE  RIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE 

VAL  HANNON  rode  the  rangeland  constantly. 
Born  to  the  open  and  the  saddle  as  she  was, 
she  seemed  filled  with  a  keener  restlessness 
than  usual,  a  more  poignant  drawing  to  the  sweep- 
ing levels. 

Day  after  day  she  mounted  Redcloud  or  Dawn- 
light — not  so  often  Lightning,  for  since  the  Red- 
star's  loss  the  master  kept  the  racer  up  for  his  own 
use — and  went  away  for  long  hours  into  the  stretch- 
ing solitudes.  Dreams  lived  in  her  heart,  vast,  opal- 
coloured,  cloudlike  dreams  that  must  have  space 
and  majestic  silence  for  their  contemplation.  They 
were  vague  things,  these  dreams,  vague  as  an  in- 
fant's thoughts  and  as  pure.  They  hardly  touched 
the  earth  at  all,  save  and  except  as  they  bore  the 
scent  of  sweated  horseflesh,  the  sound  of  poplars 
whispering  in  a  little  breeze,  the  shadow  of  a  broad 
hat-brim  across  a  strong  lean  face,  the  wonder  of 
warm  lips  on  an  outstretched  hand. 

For  John  Hannon's  blood  was  stirring  in  her  and 
she  had  found  her  star.  She  had  raised  her  inno- 
cent eyes  to  it  in  the  peculiar  idolatry  of  that 
strange  staunch  blood — and  forever  after  she  would 
know  no  other  light.     Horse — ^friend — lover — Val 

168 


ON  THE  KIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     169 

Hannon  would  be  true  to  them  as  simply  as  water 
to  its  level.  So  she  rode  among  the  mesas  and 
dreamed  her  dreams,  and  always  she  listened  for  a 
rider's  coming  from  the  illimitable  distances, 
searched  the  south  for  him. 

And  who  shall  say  but  that  Velantrie,  fighting 
his  inner  battle  far  away,  drawn  desperately  by  the 
triple  lure  of  beauty,  purity  and  honest  love,  felt 
the  longing  of  her  heart,  the  call  of  those  warm 
brown  eyes?  At  any  rate  he  came  again,  on  a 
windy  golden  day,  and  met  the  girl  by  the  Antelope 
— and  they  had  scarce  need  of  speech. 

They  rode  together  with  eager  outstretched  hands 
and  eyes  that  searched  each  other's  faces  with  a 
grave,  fierce  hunger. 

^^  Val! "  said  Velantrie,  softly,  for  the  first  time 
using  her  first  name,  even  in  his  thoughts.  Val  did 
not  answer,  though  her  every  nerve  responded  to 
the  word.  It  seemed  that  for  once  in  her  life  she 
could  not  speak,  that  there  was  a  fog  of  joy  within 
her  throat. 

She  held  hard  to  his  hand  and  looked  at  him — 
just  as  her  father  looked  at  Belle.  It  was  a  pity 
that  Belle  Hannon  could  never  see  that  look  on  her 
husband's  face.  Velantrie  was  more  blessed.  This 
day  they  did  not  think  of  Father  Hillair^,  though 
the  man  was  bound  for  the  Mission.  Instead  they 
sat  for  a  while  and  spoke  in  strained  short  sen- 
tences, and  all  the  while  their  eyes  were  speaking 
swiftly  in  the  old,  old  way. 

^^  Kide  with  me,"  said  Val,  presently,  ^^  I  want  to 


170  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

show  you  my  country- — some  of  our  springs — and 
Mesa  Grande." 

And  Velantrie,  the  strong,  the  man  who  mas- 
tered his  own  desires,  turned  with  her,  weak  as 
water  in  this  one  girl's  hands,  and  rode  with  her 
openly  across  the  plains.  Gone  were  his  resolu- 
tions to  guard  her  from  his  presence,  forgotten  his 
promise  to  make  his  contemplation  of  the  fair 
shores  short !  Velantrie  of  the  Border  rode  side  by 
side  with  the  Pride  of  Paradise  in  the  wide  expanse 
and  to  any  eyes  beholding  it  would  have  blackened 
Val  with  a  dark  suspicion — a  thing  he  would  have 
died  to  prevent. 

But  look  you,  how  Love  dares! 

So  they  went  by  Whitewater,  boiling  above  its 
silver  sands,  stopped  to  drink  and  loiter  by  its  sen- 
tinel trees,  then  on  again  toward  the  Mesa  Grande 
looming  majestically  in  the  light. 

This  Mesa  Grande  was  new  to  Velantrie.  He 
did  not  know  even  that  there  was  a  way  of  reach- 
ing its  high  level.  He  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation 
of  amazement  at  the  narrow  trail  cut  up  along  its 
precipitous  side.  Like  ants  crawling  on  a  cathedral 
column,  they  crept  up  the  frowning  face  to  emerge 
on  the  crown  of  the  world  and  to  sit,  swung  side- 
wise  in  their  saddles,  scanning  the  plains  below. 

"  This  has  always  been  a  secret  place  for  me,'' 
said  Val,  quietly,  "  I  have  come  here  always.  It  is 
so  old  and  so  still,  so  high  in  the  sky,  as  if  it  is  just 
under  the  feet  of  God  and  I  sometimes  fancy  I  can 
hear  the  angels'  wings  sweeping  about  the  cliffs. 


ON  THE  KIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     171 

Of  course  it  is  only  the  little  winds  from  the  desert 
beyond,  but  it  sounds  like  wings  if  you  sit  riglit  still 
and  listen." 

Velantrie  looked  at  her  quickly  and  her  lovely 
face  was  grave  as  a  child's  and  as  peaceful.  What- 
ever others  might  feel  at  the  nearness  of  celestial 
beings,  or  the  eerie  silence  and  loneliness  of  the  an- 
cient spot,  this  girl  was  at  home  with  either.  In 
her  soul  there  was  no  fear  of  anything,  either  nat- 
ural or  supernatural. 

A  quick  sigh  drew  across  his  lips  and  she  turned 
instantly.  They  were  near  of  kin,  these  two,  ah, 
pitifully  and  tragically  near ! 

"  What? ''  she  asked,  as  she  had  asked  him  once 
before  at  an  unspoken  thought,  and  as  before  he  an- 
swered lightly,  ''  Nothing — nothing  in  the  world.'' 

But  at  that  moment  he  would  have  given  all  that 
earth  could  hold  for  him  of  wealth  or  honour  or 
achievement — and  it  held,  alas !  none  of  the  three 
— to  have  been  the  sort  of  man  who  could  with 
honour  ask  her  for  her  heart.  He  looked  desper- 
ately out  across  the  pale  distances  and  the  sick- 
ness within  him  was  becoming  fatal. 

They  dismounted  and  leaving  the  horses  to  stand 
in  hip-dropped  rest,  walked  here  and  there  among 
the  crumbling  huts  of  a  lost,  forgotten  people. 

"  They  builded  well,"  said  Val,  "  they  left  some- 
thing of  themselves — their  work — to  attest  their 
patience  and  their  love  of  home.  There  is  an  old 
story  in  the  land  that  they  died  by  violence,  this 
tribe  who  lived  on  Mesa  Grande,  that  a  conquering 


172  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

tribe  at  last  scaled  their  stronghold  here,  and  that, 
rather  than  be  taken,  they  flung  themselves,  women 
and  children  and  all  down  to  the  last  babe,  over  the 
precipice.  I  don't  know  how  true  it  is,  but  I  do 
know  that  there  are  many  small  pieces  of  bleached 
and  broken  bones  at  the  foot  of  Mesa  Grande  at  the 
west.  They  loved  the  sun,  you  know,  and  it  must 
have  been  late  in  the  day,  so  they  made  the  great 
sacrifice  toward  him." 

Velantrie,  leaning  against  a  wall  as  mellow  as  a 
sunset  itself,  listened  with  his  longing  eyes  upon 
her  face. 

"  Sacrifice,"  he  said  at  last  gently — "  that  is  a 
wondrous  word." 

"  The  best  in  the  language  except  one,"  she  an- 
swered quickly. 

"And  that?" 

"  Love,"  said  Val,  simply,  "  because  of  love  was 
sacrifice  born ! " 

"  Aye,"  said  the  man,  "  you're  right." 

They  walked  on  again,  winding  among  the  blind- 
walled  huts,  stopping  to  scan  some  ancient  picture 
cut  crudely  into  the  face  of  the  structure,  and 
finally  stood  on  the  northern  edge  of  the  high  table- 
land. Far  off  on  the  levels  they  could  see  the  gath- 
ered trees  that  sheltered  Santa  Leandra,  mark  the 
winding  course  of  the  green-fringed  stream.  Be- 
yond, the  low  escarpment  of  the  circling  hills 
rimmed  in  the  land. 

Two  atoms  between  the  earth  and  sky  they  stood 
together  for  a  long,  long  time  and  watched  the 


ON  THE  RIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     173 

eternal  solitude  where  nothing  moved  save  vultures 
sailing  high  in  the  blue.  It  was  mid-afternoon  and 
the  drowsy  heat  was  tempered  by  a  soft  wind  from 
the  south.  Where  the  central  hut  stood  large 
among  its  fellows  they  stopped  again  and  Val  sat 
down,  her  booted  feet  crossed  under  her,  and  took 
off  her  hat.  The  hair  was  sweated  on  her  temples 
and  the  man's  eyes  caressed  each  little  pasted  curl. 
His  fingers  twitched  with  the  age-old  ache  to 
smooth  them  back,  to  touch  the  fair  forehead  be- 
neath. 

He  rolled  a  cigarette  instead  and  leaned  against 
the  wall. 

''  This  was  the  council-house,"  said  Val,  "  where 
the  headmen  gathered.  It  must  have  held  a  desper- 
ate council  that  far-off  time  when  the  enemy  was 
coming  up  the  cliff — I'd  have  liked  to  see  those  grim 
dark  faces  when  they  decided  on  the  long  leap  for 
all  their  race.'^ 

'^  Look  at  mine !  '^  said  Velantrie  with  such  sud- 
den sharp  bitterness  that  the  girl  caught  her  breath, 
glancing  up  with  startled  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  said. 

Velantrie,  "sometime  of  the  Border,"  threw 
away  the  cigarette  and  sat  down  opposite  her. 

"  What  I  said.  Look  at  my  face,  Miss  Hannon, 
and  you  will  see  the  same  desperate  decision — for 
myself.  Long  ago  I  tried  to  make  it — and  for  the 
first  time  since  I  can  remember,  failed.  In  all  the 
great  crises  of  my  life  I  have  been  able  to  command 
myself — until— lately.    Always  I  have  prided  my- 


174  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

self  on  my  inner  strength.  Now  I  find  I  am  not  so 
strong  as  I  had  thought — that  is,  that  I  have  not 
been.  I  am  deciding  now — today — to  '  build  well ' 
like  our  departed  friends  of  the  old  huts  here.  I, 
too,  have  a  leap  to  make.  Help  me  to  make  it,  Miss 
Hannon." 

The  smile  that  curled  his  lips  was  tender,  but  the 
look  in  his  blue  eyes  was  growing  hard,  like  a  mar- 
tial flame  struggling  up  to  light  a  marching  army. 

^^Too  long  I  have  dallied  in  this  country,"  he 
went  on,  "  I  have  wronged  you,  and  Father  Hillaire 
and — myself — in  staying  hereabouts." 

Val  wet  her  lips  and  listened  gravely. 

"  I  told  you  once  that  I  was  black  with  sin — and 
you  ignored  it.  I  told  you  that  first  night  in  Santa 
Leandra  that  if  you  knew  me  you  might  not  take 
my  hand — and  you  reached  and  clasped  it." 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Val,  simply. 

^^Lord!    Lord!" 

He  laid  aside  his  heavy  hat  and  wiped  his  face 
with  a  hand  that  was  not  quite  steady.  The  lines 
of  his  features  seemed  to  sink  deeper  in,  as  if  he 
stood  to  his  task  with  an  effort. 

"  I  am  a  man  forsworn  to  blood,"  he  said  pres- 
ently, ''  a  man  whom  all  the  Border  knows.  I  am  a 
thief  and  a  bandit.  I  have  raided  and  pillaged  for 
four  years  now,  and  my  hand  has  been  against  the 
wealthy.  I  have  a  band  of  men  who  swear  by  me, 
hard  characters  all,  and  they  follow  me  for  the 
shares  I  give  them  of  my  ill-gotten  gains.  I  hate 
them  all  to  a  man,  almost,  but  I  must  have  them." 


ON  THE  RIM  OE  MESA  GRANDE     175 

He  paused  and  looked  hard  in  the  girl's  eyes. 
They  were  steady  as  harbour  lights,  though  the 
blood  was  slow  ly  draining  from  her  cheeks. 

'*  Is  that  enough?  "  he  asked  brutally. 

"  No/'  said  Val  Hannon,  piteously,  her  fingers 
gripping  the  brim  of  her  hat,  ''  it  is  not  enough." 

"  Then  by  Heaven ! "  cried  Velantrie,  leaping  to 
his  feet,  "  I'll  tell  you  the  rest! " 

Val  rose  too  and  faced  him  with  her  pale  lips 
fallen  helplessly  apart. 

"  I  am  on  a  man-hunt,  forsworn  to  kill  on  sight 
— and  have  been  for  four  black  years — the  man 
who  killed  my  father !  " 

They  stared  hard  at  each  other,  these  two  young 
creatures  there  in  the  shade  of  the  ancient  council- 
house  on  the  top  of  the  world,  and  they  looked  with 
tragic  eyes  on  the  naked  depths  of  each  other's 
souls. 

"Is  it  enough?"  said  Velantrie,  hoarsely,  "will 
you  let  me  go  now?  " 

But  Val  shook  her  head  and  put  a  strong  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  No,"  she  said  again,  "  never  under  God's 
heaven — if  you  want  to  stay.    Do  you?  " 

The  man  frowned  and  did  not  answer. 

She  leaned  near,  sweetly,  dangerously  near,  and 
her  dark  eyes  were  the  most  wonderful  things  he 
had  ever  beheld  in  all  his  life — sane,  suffering, 
honest  to  the  depths,  but  filled  with  the  martial 
light  that  had  been  in  Father  Hillair^'s  when  he 
said  "  aye — ^the  Christ  and  I."    And  under  all  the 


176  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

strength  and  the  courage  that  shone  in  them  Vel- 
antrie  saw  that  divine  light  grow  and  flame  like  an 
eternal  beacon  among  the  stars.  With  a  groan  he 
turned  from  her,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands 
and  laid  it  against  the  wall. 

"My  God! ''  he  whispered,  "  what  shall  I  do?  '' 

"  Repent,"  said  Val,  sternly,  "  the  door  is  open  at 
Refugio — and  in  my  heart." 

In  the  tense  silence  that  followed,  tragic,  preg- 
nant, the  heat  seemed  to  glimmer  faintly  from  the 
hard  earth  of  the  mesa  and  all  the  world  about  to 
listen.  The  shoulder  under  the  girl's  gripping 
hand  trembled  as  with  a  chill. 

Indeed  a  chill  was  at  Velantrie's  heart,  anguish 
was  in  his  soul.  Too  long  had  he  dallied  in  the 
rangeland — and  he  was  beginning  to  pay  that  price 
of  heart's  blood  with  usury.  For  this  woman,  this 
matchless  woman  of  the  high  heart  and  the  lov- 
ing sweetness,  this  wondrous  creature  whose  like  he 
had  never  known  before — stood  before  him  and  said 
courageously  "  the  door  is  open  in  my  heart ! " 

She  did  not  ask  his  crimes,  his  methods  or  his 
reasons !  She  knew  he  was  black  with  sin,  that  mys- 
tery surrounded  him,  that  he  went  to  oblivion  and 
came  therefrom  to  hold  her  hand  a  timid  moment, 
that  the  good  priest  at  Refugio  would  tell  her 
nothing  of  him — all  these  she  knew — and  yet — 
"the  door  is  open  in  my  heart!  " 

A  sigh  that  was  near  a  sob  heaved,  the  man's 
shoulders  and  he  straightened  from  the  wall,  wip- 
ing his  ashen  face  with  a  downward  sweep  of  his 


ON  THE  KIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     177 

hands.  When  he  looked  at  Val  again  he  had  aged 
tremendously.  But  the  shaking  of  his  features  was 
done.    He  was  steady  as  a  rock. 

^^  If  I  could,"  he  said,  "  I  would — but  my  word  is 
given  to  the  dead.    Let's  speak  no  more  about  it." 

"  We  will  speak  of  it,"  said  the  girl,  "  do  you 
think  I'll  let  you  go  without  an  effort?  " 

''  No,"  said  Velantrie,  swiftly,  "  I  know  that  you 
would  do  more  to  save  my  worthless  soul  than  I 
should  ever  let  you." 

"  You  have  an  oath  to  keep.  A  bad  word  broken 
is  better  than  one  kept.  Will  you  not  break  this 
one — because  I  ask  you  to?  " 

"  Don't !  "  cried  the  man,  ''  Don't  ask  me  that ! 
The  man  was  my  father,  and  I  loved  him  as  few 
sons  love  their  parents.  Do  you  love  John  Han- 
non?  " 

Val  caught  her  breath  with  a  little  gasp.  He  was 
bringing  the  thing  close  home  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Could  you  see  him  killed  before  your  eyes — 
and  let  the  murderer  go  unpunished?  " 

Val's  hand  slipped  from  his  shoulder  and  she 
turned  frowning  eyes  out  over  the  distant  plain. 
Far  in  the  pale  expanse  a  rider  on  a  pinto  horse 
came  idly  by  the  mesa. 

She  studied  it  absently  while  she  turned  this  over 
in  her  mind.  John  Hannon — big,  iron-grey,  hand- 
some. If  a  man  should  kill  him — aye,  she'd  be 
like  this  man  before  her,  savage,  hard  as  adamant, 
bent  on  revenge.     Yes,  assuredly — there  was  no 


178  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

other  way.  Why,  she  had  said  she'd  kill  the  man 
who  stole  the  Redstar,  for  so  slight  a  wrong  as 
that!     One's  father,  now — 

''  I  see,"  she  said  at  last  slowly,  "  I  understand." 

"  And  when  I've  done  the  thing,"  said  y elantrie, 
bitterly,  "  I  cannot  come  back  to  you — not  then." 

"  Why?  "  she  asked  simply. 

Velantrie  gulped  and  swallowed. 

A  wry  smile  curved  up  his  lips  pathetically. 

"  Because  I  can't,"  he  said,  "  there  is  an  ethics 
of  the  case  which  says  the  man  who  dares  to  lift 
his  eyes  to  you  must  be  clean  as  a  man  can  be.  I'm 
not  that  man." 

"  You  are  that  man,"  said  Val,  clear-eyed,  "  there 
is  no  other." 

"  No.  You've  made  me  weak  as  water.  I've  lin- 
gered here  when  I  should  have  been  gone  long  back 
on  the  restless  quest  I've  followed.  Now  I  must  be 
gone  again.  The  clue  I  followed  here  has  seemed 
to  vanish  in  thin  air,  anyway,  the  clue  of  The  Me- 
teor." 

"  The  Meteor?    What's  that?  " 

"  The  horse  I  told  you  of  one  day — the  tie-twin 
of  The  Comet.  The  man  I'm  hunting  for  is  the 
man  who  stole  this  horse — that  black  day  across  the 
Mexican  Border  which  made  me  what  I  am.  There 
had  been  great  racing  at  New  Orleans  and  my 
father,  who  owned  these  two  wonderful  horses,  had 
had  them  there.  They  had  run  to  within  two  sec- 
onds of  the  world's  record  and  offers  poured  in 
from  all  sides  for  them.     He  would  not  sell  them, 


ON  THE  RIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     179 

not  for  a  thousand  times  their  value,  for  he  was  a 
horseman  born  and  they  were  his  pride  and  glory. 
I  travelled  with  him  always,  for  we  were  all  of  our 
blood  extant,  the  old  man  and  I,  and  the  life  was 
gay  and  free.  It  was  a  clean  life,  too,  for  the  pater 
was  a  clean  and  courteous  gentleman,  of  good  old 
Kentucky  stock.  After  the  New  Orleans  races  we 
started  for  a  town  in  Mexico.  It  was  fine  spring 
weather,  and  at  El  Paso  we  took  the  horses  from 
the  railroad  and,  with  two  trainers  and  extra 
mounts,  were  going  down  on  horseback.  I'll  never 
forget  his  pride  and  pleasure  in  tEe  spTended  ani- 
mals. 

" '  Son,'  he  would  say  sometimes,  ^  these  stars  of 
purs  will  shine  around  the  world  some  day.' " 

"  But  his  happiness  was  short-lived — a  mere  mat- 
ter of  a  few  pleasant  weeks  as  we  got  farther  down 
toward  our  destination — for  one  gorgeous  twilight 
as  we  made  ready  to  camp  in  a  fold  of  the  hills, 
two  masked  men  dropped  from  a  rocky  pass  and 
ambushed  the  camp.  It  was  a  daring  thing,  bold 
and  clean-cut,  and  took  us  unawares,  who  were 
always  prepared.  They  were  white  men — no  Mexi- 
cans, and  both  were  big  men.  The  two  handlers  and 
I  were  willing  to  obey  the  guns  we  faced — but  this 
Kentucky  gentleman,  this  fiery  old  father  of  mine 
— ah,  he  was  a  fighter  born !  And  it  was  his  horses 
that  the  masked  men  wanted,  his  matchless  racers ! 

'^  So  he  refused  and  leaped  for  his  gun  beside  a 
rock — and  the  leader  shot  him  as  he  ran !  Shot  him 
dead  in  his  tracks,  reaching  for  the  gun !    I  think 


180  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

I  went  mad  that  minute,  for  I  leaped  at  the  bandit 
then,  half  up  on  his  horse  I  went,  clawing  like  a 
eat.  I  carried  a  knife  and  I  tried  to  kill  him  with 
it,  but  he.  beat  me  off  with  his  gun-butt.  As  I  fell, 
my  face  battered  to  a  pulp  by  the  flailing  butt,  I 
raked  him  with  my  clutching  fingers — and  tore 
away  his  mask.  I  saw  his  face,  just  one  swift  sec- 
ond before  the  darkness  of  failing  sight  blotted  it 
out,  and  it  was  a  handsome  face,  middle-aged  and 
eagle-keen,  and  the  long  dark  eyes  that  lighted  it 
were  hard  as  steel  and  terrible.  When  I  came  back 
to  earth  we  were  two  dead  men  and  two  living 
ones,  for  one  of  the  handlers  had  been  killed  also. 
The  other  was  a  brave  chap  and  he  brought  me 
round,  helped  to  gather  up  the  scattered  horses,  and 
the  next  day  we  buried  our  dead  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  There  at  that  unmarked  grave  I  made  my 
oath,  and  started 'out  to  keep  it.  For  four  years  I 
have  searched  the  earth  for  a  big  grey  man  with 
long  dark  eyes  that  glittered  with  a  mad  excite- 
ment— and  some  day  I  shall  find  him.  There  was 
but  one  bit  of  good  left  me  from  that  bitter  day — 
The  Comet,  who  loved  me  best  of  all  who  touched 
him,  would  have  none  of  the  strangers. 

"  The  trainer  said  he  went  mad  as  a  lunatic  when 
they  tried  to  take  him.  Wild,  screaming,  furious, 
he  charged  them  full,  broke  his  rope  and  literally 
drove  them  into  the  sanctuary  of  the  pass — but 
they  took  his  gentler  double,  the  starry-eyed  Me- 
teor. Out  of  the  chasms  and  defiles  The  Comet 
came  next  day  at  my  ceaseless  calling,  came  ram- 


ON  THE  RIM  OF  MESA  GRANDE     181 

pant  and  blowing,  and  we've  been  together  ever 
since." 

Velantrie  ceased,  rolled  his  wide  hat  aimlessly 
between  his  fingers  and  set  it  back  upon  his  head. 
He  pulled  it  well  down  above  his  eyes  and  turned 
to  the  girl  with  his  old  gentle  smile. 

"  Come,  Miss  Hannon,''  he  said,  "  let  me  take  you 
down.  The  tale  is  told — the  story  finished.  Now 
you  know  '  Velantrie,  sometime  of  the  Border,'  save 
and  except  the  fashion  of  my  living.  That  can  be 
told  in  a  breath.  I  hate  oppression.  In  Mexico  it 
thrives  appallingly.  I  have  had  to  travel  cease- 
lessly. I  have  put  my  hand  against  every  man  who 
wrongs  a  helpless  one,  and  I  have  enjoyed  the  price 
I've  made  them  pay  wherever  and  whenever  I 
could.  I  have  stolen  right  and  left — and  given  it 
right  and  left.  I  have  kept  nothing  for  myself  ex- 
cept the  bread  I  ate.  And  always  I  have  searched 
— searched  for  The  Meteor  and  the  man  who  rides 
him — for  I  mean  to  have  them  both." 

He  reached  for  her  hand  with  a  firm  grip  and 
drew  her  with  him  out  from  the  shelter  of  the  coun- 
cil-house to  where  the  horses  stood  at  the  steep 
trail's  head.  As  they  paused  to  mount,  Val  again 
put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  faced  him  gravely. 

"  Some  day,"  she  said  softly,  "  some  day — ^you — 
will  come  back — to  me?  " 

The  muscles  in  Velantrie's  arms  twitched  but  he 
held  them  sternly  at  his  sides.  The  knuckles  on  his 
clenched  hands  shone  pearly  white  with  the  effort. 

"  No,"  he  said  thickly,  "  I  am — not  the  man," 


182  yAL  OF  PARADISE 

But  Val  Hannon,  her  dark  eyes  dim  with  honest 
tears,  leaned  forward  and  kissed  him  square  upon 
his  tight-shut  lips. 

^'  Some  day/'  she  said  with  strange  conviction, 
"  you  will  come  back — to  the  Church  door — and — 
to  me." 

Then  they  mounted  in  silence,  and  in  silence 
went  down  the  trail  to  the  levels  below. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  VIXEN^S  HEART 

"  When  love,  rejected^  turns  to  hate, 
All  ill  betide  the  man." — Kipling. 

VELANTRIE'S  soul  was  chaos.  As  he  fol- 
lowed Val  Hannon  down  the  face  of  Mesa 
Grande  a  flood  of  bitter  waters  rose  and 
drowned  his  inner  self.  Regrets,  remorse,  sorrow, 
they  all  took  hold  on  him  and  wrung  him  like  a  rag 
between  them. 

What  had  he  been?    A  bandit  of  the  Border! 

What  was  he  now?  The  same  and  worse — a 
weakling,  eating  out  his  heart  in  sight  of  Heaven, 
neither  able  to  enter  or  depart ! 

And  his  head  was  whirling  like  a  drunkard's 
with  the  exquisite  memory  of  that  honest  kiss.  No 
matter  what  happened  he  would  always  have  that, 
a  priceless  possession.  If  there  had  been  any  good 
in  his  life,  if  the  books  of  the  Great  Recorder  held 
any  mark  of  merit  in  his  name,  this  was  his  reward 
and  he  was  thrice  blessed.  Always  would  this 
hour  stand  out  as  the  crown  of  his  existence,  the 
peak  and  pinnacle. 

And  then  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  trail, 
set  deep  between  huge  shafts  of  rotting  stone,  and 
— came  face  to  face  with  Lolo  Sanchez  on  a  pinto 

183 


184  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

pony.  Dusky  as  sunset,  full-blown  as  a  flower,  very 
beautiful  in  a  sensuous  fashion,  she  sat  and  looked 
at  them — or  at  the  man,  rather. 

Val  she  did  not  seem  to  see.  The  bud  of  her  scar- 
let mouth  broke  over  her  small  blue-white  teeth  in 
a  smile  that  had  ravished  more  hearts  than  one 
and  she  held  out  one  slim  hand. 

^'  Master !  "  she  said  in  Spanish. 

Velantrie,  roused  from  his  tense  reverie,  pulled 
himself  together  and  shook  the  hand  politely. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Lolo?  "  he  said. 

^^  Como  estd  VJ  ^^  she  returned,  still  in  the  Span- 
ish, as  if  by  its  use  she  narrowed  the  interest  to 
themselves. 

Velantrie  turned  to  Val. 

"  Miss  Hannon,"  he  said,  ^^  do  you  know  the 
Senorita  Sanchez?  " 

"  No,"  said  Val  and  smiled. 

But  Lolo  did  not  smile.  Instead  the  look  she 
threw  at  the  other  girl  was  slow,  appraising,  inso- 
lent. The  Eose  of  Santa  Leandra  had  never  for- 
given the  loosening  of  this  man's  arm,  the  slipping 
of  herself  out  of  his  consciousness  when  he  glanced 
up  that  night  at  Hunnewell's  to'  face  John  Han- 
non's  daughter.     Therefore  she  hated  the  woman. 

"What  matters?"  she  said,  "I — am  only — Lolo 
of  Leandra,  too  lowly  for  the  Pride  of  Paradise  to 
see." 

With  consummate  art  she  dropped  her  wonderful 
eyes,  and  she  was  on  the  second  the  lowly,  as  she 
said,  the  meek,  the  far  beneath.    Only  Lolo  of  Lean* 


THE  VIXEN'S  HEART  185 

dra — poor  in  this  world's  goods,  a  little  sister  of 
the  more  fortunate.  And  Velantrie  was  the  friend 
of  such. 

Val,  understanding  perfectly,  stiffened  in  her 
saddle  and  a  slow  flush  grew  in  her  cheeks. 

The  girl  looked  up  and  all  her  flower  face  melted 
in  beauty  of  tenderness  as  she  smiled  at  him. 

"  None  but  you,  my  master,"  she  said  softly,  "  is 
so  kind  to  me.  Women  hate  me — all  of  them. 
...  I  have  still  the  gold  you  gave  me — and  the 
kiss  as  well." 

Velantrie's  nostrils  drew  in  in  a  sharp  white  line. 

"  Lolo,"  he  said,  "  speak  English." 

"  No  need,"  said  Val  quickly,  "  I  understand." 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  though  a  cold  hand 
gripped  at  his  vitals. 

^^Well?"  he  said. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Lolo  like  a  child. 

Verily  do  things  rise  from  the  past  like  evil 
ghosts,  thought  the  man.  That  cheap  and  tawdry- 
kiss,  given  in  the  gaiety  of  a  reckless  moment,  came 
back  to  damn  him  now  in  the  one  woman's  eyes  as 
a  worthless  trifler.  What  could  she  think,  what 
could  she  feel  but  a  nauseous  revulsion,  even  as  he 
himself  felt  it! 

He  looked  at  Lolo  and  the  sparkle  was  hard  as 
flintstone  in  his  eyes.  The  little  vixen  meant  to  do 
the  trick  she  had  done,  to  step  between  and  turn 
Val  from  him. 

But  to  his  astonishment  Val  spoke. 

"Well?"  she  said,  "Velantrie  is  good  to  all. 


186  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

He  has  given  gold  to  many,  and  a  kiss  is  sign-man- 
ual of  a  gentle  heart." 

The  man  drew  a  long  breath,  held  it,  let  it  out. 

Lolo  flashed  a  glance  at  Val  then — a  venomous 
spurt.    Artist  recognized  artist. 

"  But  not  like  mine !  "  she  cried.  "  He  gambled 
for  and  won  me !    He  is  my  master ! '' 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Val,  sharply,  "  and  he  will  know 
what  to  do  with  his  possessions." 

"  Lolo,  little  one,"  said  Velantrie,  "  tell  it  all." 

''  What  all  is  there,  save  that  you  won  me  fair- 
and-square  from  Brideman?  " 

Another  long  breath  lifted  Velantrie's  breast. 
Lolo  and  all  her  kind  were  monstrous  to  him  now — 
but  she  was  a  woman  and  he  had  never  spoken 
harshly  to  a  woman  in  his  life.  He  turned  and 
looked  at  Val — and  his  heart  leaped  at  the  steady 
faith  which  burned  in  her  eyes. 

"I  can  explain "  he  said,  but  she  shook  her 

head. 

^^Why  should  you?"  she  answered,  "I  need  no 
explanation.     Your  face  is  enough  for  me." 

^^  My  God !  "  groaned  Velantrie,  ^^  what  have  I 
done  to  be  worthy !  Father  Hillair^  was  right — I 
should  have  gone  long  back !  " 

He  passed  a  hand  across  his  eyes  and  addressed 
Lolo  gently. 

"  Lolo,"  he  said,  "  go  home — and  as  I  told  you 
that  day,  don't  try  these  shameless  tricks." 

A  red  flame  mounted  to  the  girl's  very  hair, 
burning,  hot,  furious. 


THE  VIXEN'S  HEART  187 

"  A  wonderful  understanding!  "  she  cried,  "  great 
faith  and  confidence — between  Miss  Val  Hannon 
of  Paradise — and — the  Black  Rustler !  Very  beau- 
tiful— mi  Dios!  ^^ 

And  with  a  swing  of  her  braided  quirt  on  the 
pinto's  flanks  she  whirled  and  was  gone  around 
the  broken  fringes  of  Mesa  Grande. 

The  Black  Rustler!  Before  Val's  eyes  the  levels 
shimmering  in  the  afternoon  sun  seemed  to  rise  and 
dance  grotesquely.  She  put  out  a  hand  to  steady 
herself  and  grasped  the  empty  air.  Velantrie, 
quivering  in  his  saddle,  did  not  touch  it. 

The  Black  Rustler !  Curse  of  the  cattle  country 
— enemy  of  right — ^lifter  of  horses — with  a  price 
upon  his  hvead ! 

And  Boyce  Clendenning  set  like  a  hound  upon 
his  trail!  She  seemed  to  feel  again  the  reticence 
of  the  riders  at  Paradise  to  discuss  the  Rustler- 
remembered  the  tight-lipped  quiet  concerning  that 
night  at  Hunnewell's!  A  thousand  small  things 
rose  up  and  took  on  meaning  in  her  jumbled  con- 
sciousness— and  still  the  levels  danced  and  her 
mouth  was  dry  as  ashes.  No  sound  came  from  her 
white  lips  but  she  felt  as  she  had  felt  that  noon 
when  she  groped  for  the  step  and  heard  her  father 
say  "  Are  you  my  daughter?  Then  buck  up  and 
be  a  man! " 

The  pain  in  her  heart  at  Redstarts  loss  had  been 
a  bagatelle  compared  to  the  black  anguish  that  lay 
there  now ! 

The   Black   Rustler!    Velantrie — the   slim,   the 


188  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

vital,  the  tender !  Velantrie  of  the  sparkling  eyes  t 
This,  then,  was  what  he  had  meant  when  he  had 
asked  her  to  "  let  him  go  " — was  what  Father  Hil- 
lair^  had  meant  when  he  said  "  if  I  should  tell  you 
something  that  would  make  you  less  happy  " — this 
was  the  hideous  meaning  of  it  all ! 

And  still  the  levels  danced  and  a  fog  was  in  her 
throat.  And  Velantrie  himself  sat  there  with  his 
eyes  upon  her  face  and  said  not  a  word.  At  last 
she  wet  her  lips  and  turned  to  him — and  the  man 
cursed  inwardly  at  the  anguish  on  her  face — 

"  Tell — me,"  she  said  thickly,  "  that  it — is — not 
true!    Deny '' 

Velantrie  turned  his  gaze  from  her  and  looked 
out  along  the  plains.  The  blue  eyes  narrowed,  the 
stern  look  that  the  Border  knew  came  hard  about 
his  mouth.  He  thought  of  his  promise  to  the  padre 
— of  the  Church  door — and  the  woman.  Of  the 
dallying  and  the  pain  it  had  brought  at  last.  The 
hand  lying  open  on  his  pommel  closed. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last,  ^'  I-^do  not  deny." 

Val's  face  worked  and  she  put  out  a  trembling 
hand.  Always  it  seemed  she  was  reaching,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  for  this  man. 

"  You— can  not?  " 

He  thought  a  moment. 

^'  No,"  he  said,  ''  can  not." 

Her  lips  were  shaking,  the  tears  were  welling  in 
her  dark  eyes,  all  but  spilling  over. 

^'  Even  so,"  she  said,  "  you  are  my  man.  Good- 
bye." 


THE  VIXEN'S  HEART  189 

Without  a  word  Velantrie  struck  spurs  to  the 
horse  beneath  him  and  shot  forth  to  the  hot  plain 
— and  oblivion. 

And  Val  Hannon  at  the  trail's  foot  laid  her  face 
down  in  Redcloud's  mane  and  fell  to  weeping — the 
low,  deep  weeping  that  comes  but  rarely  to  strong 
and  sustained  natures. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BRISTON   DOES  SOME  THINKING 

MANY  things  were  brewing  in  the  rangeland. 
Among  the  ranchers  the  talk  had  crystal- 
lized into  preparedness.  Meetings  had  been 
held,  squads  apportioned  for  different  parts  of  the 
country  under  this  rancher  and  that  to  patrol  and 
to  watch,  a  system  of  fire-signals — farthest  reach- 
ing sign-speech  of  the  plains — agreed  upon.  Boyce 
Clendenning  and  his  neighbours  meant  to  lose  no 
more  fat  steers,  no  more  hard-earned  profits. 

At  Refugio  Father  Hillair^  read  his  ancient 
books  and  sighed  uneasily.  A  nameless  stir  was  in 
the  air,  and  he  prayed  often  and  fervently  for  Vel- 
antrie,  who  came  no  more  to  the  Mission. 

At  Santa  Leandra,  Lolo  Sanchez  studied  a  man 
with  her  cunning  eyes  and  cast  the  light  of  her 
smiles  that  way — and  the  man  was  none  other  than 
that  huge  bulk  of  laughter  and  mysterious  wealth, 
Brideman.  Amazed,  flattered  out  of  all  reason,  the 
bearded  giant  came  often  to  Leandra  and  he  tied 
his  horse  at  Sanchez'  fence,  to  stand  in  the  shadow; 
of  the  cottonwoods  and  talk  with  the  girl. 

And  far  in  the  rugged  fastnesses  of  the  Blind 
Trail  Hills  the  days  wore  by  with  weariness.  In 
Redstar's  hidden  glade  the  path  by  the  binding 
walls  was  growing  deeper,  the  top  sapling  of  the  in- 

190 


BRISTON  DOES  SOME  THINKING    191 

set  gate  was  thinned  and  ragged,  flaunting  long 
white  fibre  banners  to  the  breeze,  for  the  stallion 
never  ceased  his  constant  gnawing  at  the  hindering 
bars.  As  for  the  king  himself,  he  was  lean  with  the 
endless  fret,  hard  as  nails  with  the  everlasting  runs 
about  the  walls,  and  his  eager  eyes  were  hollow 
with  despair. 

And  dusk  after  dusk  he  stood  out  in  the  centre 
of  the  green  floor  and  called  his  ringing  peal.  Only 
the  silence  and  the  coming  night  answered  with 
their  echoes  and  their  loneliness. 

At  Paradise  the  old  free  life  had  passed  beneath 
a  shadow,  for  Val,  the  light  of  the  rancho,  was  dim 
with  a  strange  depression.  There  was  no  laughter 
on  her  lips  now,  no  pretty  tricks  delighted  the  rid- 
ers coming  in  or  going  out.  Instead  a  mortal  sick- 
ness was  in  her  long  dark  eyes,  a  tremble  was 
always  just  behind  her  lips. 

^^For  th'  love  of  Pete,  Val,''  said  Perly,  miser- 
ably, "what's  ailin'  you?  Is  it  anything  we've 
done — any  of  us?  If  it  is  tell  me  an'  I'll  bust  th' 
son-of-a-gun  till  his  mother  wouldn't  know  him. 
Tell  me,  Val." 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  and  turned  away, 
and  Briston  swore  at  Perly  with  his  eyes. 

Belle,  the  keenest  heart  at  Paradise  beside  her 
daughter's,  knew  that  something  was  vastly  wrong 
and  she  made  one  gentle  probe  to  find  its  cause. 

"  Val  darling,"  she  said,  "  there's  a  shadow  in 
your  sky.    Can  you  tell  your  mother?  " 

And  Val,  standing  by  a  window  in  the  twilight 


192  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

where  the  fine-leaved  vine  grew  thick,  saw  the  crim- 
son and  purple  veils  waver  through  her  slow  tears. 

"  It's  not  a  shadow,  Belle,''  she  said,  "  it's  the 
end  of  the  world,  seems  like — but  I  cannot  tell  it — 
not  even  to  you,  for  there's  a  secret  with  it  that's 
not  mine." 

"  It  isn't  Boyce,  of  course? "  asked  Belle  half 
hopefully. 

"  No — it  isn't  Boyce,  of  course." 

''  Nor  any  one  at  Paradise?  " 

"  No." 

And  Belle  fell  silent,  thinking  of  the  boy  from 
Texas  with  the  "  feet  like  thistledown."  Perhaps 
it  might  be  he.  There  was  no  other  on  whom  she 
could  settle  from  the  remembered  snatches  of  Val's 
talk  after  the  scattered  dances. 

But  if  all  Paradise  knew  that  Val  was  in  trouble, 
there  was  one  who  gave  it  little  thought — the  boss 
himself.  John  Hannon  was  a  strange  man  these 
days,  who  had  always  been  so  to  his  subordinates. 
He  seemed  strung  like  a  singing  wire,  full  of  energy, 
blazing  with  a  zest  of  life  that  made  him  marked 
among  the  slower  blood  of  more  youthful  men.  He 
entered  into  the  ranchers'  plans  for  the  capture  of 
the  Black  Rustler  with  vim  and  apparent  joy. 

"  Perhaps  John  Hannon's  magic,"  he  said  point- 
edly to  them  one  day,  ^^will  work  again — in 
another  way." 

And  sometimes  his  eyes,  dropped  quickly  when 
he  felt  their  tell-tale  fire,  shone  with  that  odd  ex- 
citement that  was  mad  as  lunacy. 


BEISTON  DOES  SOME  THINKING    193 

^^  Th'  best  in  its  line,"  he  muttered  to  himself 
once  smoking  in  the  patio^  "  th'  Black  Rustler — is 
th'  best  in  his  line.'' 

When  the  ache  in  her  breast  became  so  heavy 
as  to  be  unendurable,  when  it  seemed  every  breath 
she  drew  was  fraught  with  pain,  when  only  sighs 
were  on  her  lips  to  ease  the  stricture  of  her  lungs, 
Val  saddled  Dawnlight  and  went  to  Refugio. 

^^  Padre/^  she  said,  standing  by  the  little  table 
where  she  had  listened  entranced  to  Velantrie's 
pleasant  speech  so  long — so  long  ago  it  seemed! — 
^^  padre  dear — I've  come  for  help." 

Her  lips  quivered  with  the  troublesome  tears 
that  were  so  near  her  eyes  now,  and  Father  Hillair^ 
looked  deep  into  her  face,  opened  his  old  arms  and 
took  her  in  against  his  breast  with  her  forehead 
pressed  to  his  shabby  cassock. 

His  own  heart  was  very  bitter  and  sad  at  that 
moment,  torn  with  a  thousand  griefs — the  griefs 
of  all  humanity.  Why,  oh,  why,  had  that  reckless 
youth  come  like  a  flaming  meteor  out  of  the  south 
to  burn  and  sear  with  his  forbidden  charm  this 
wholesome,  happy  life!  This  child  he  had  almost 
raised,  this  sweet  and  true  woman,  for  whose  hap- 
piness he  would,  as  he  had  said,  have  laid  down  his 
own  worn-out  body — it  was  a  bitter  reward  indeed 
for  all  his  labours,  all  her  truth  and  obedience. 

And  yet,  strive  as  he  might,  he  could  not  blame 
Velantrie.  Velantrie,  with  his  bitter  pledge,  his 
memories  biting  like  a  whip,  his  reckless  life  that 
must  eventually  end  where  all  such  must — in  igno- 


194  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

ble  death.  Verily  the  sorrows  of  the  world  pressed 
down  upon  the  priest  heavy  as  the  hand  of  doom — 
and  his  own  tears  salt  and  bitter  with  experience, 
sweet  with  divine  love,  fell  on  Val's  black  head. 

''  Tell  me/'  he  said,  "  what  you  have  learned.'' 

And  into  this  wise  heart  which  had  been  her  safe 
confessional  since  she  could  remember,  she  poured 
the  story  of  her  love  and  its  bitter  end. 

"  And  Lolo  called  him,  padre/^  she  sobbed,  "  the 
— ah ! — the  Black — Rustler — and  he — did  not 
deny !    He  said — ah ! — that — he  could  not !  " 

^^  What?  '^  cried  Father  Hillair^,  the  tears  sud- 
denly blinked  from  before  his  vision,  "why — 
he " 

Then  he  drew  in  his  breath  with  a  whistling 
sound  and  said  no  more. 

"Higher  Hands,"  he  murmured,  "perhaps — ah, 
well,  it  is  in  higher  Hands  than  mine,  at  last." 

And  to  himself  he  said  sadly,  "  Tragedy  steps 
this  way  with  her  head  covered.  Ah,  Val,  Val — 
my  little,  little  one !  " 

But  the  habit  of  a  wonderful  life  was  strong 
upon  him  and  he  gathered  his  spiritual  forces  to 
weave  a  web  of  comfort  in  which  to  wrap  this 
young  soul,  quivering  from  its  first  great  blow.  So 
well  did  he  succeed  that  when  she  went  back  to 
Paradise  some  four  hours  later  Val  Hannon  was 
her  father's  daughter  once  again,  strong,  contained, 
ready  to  face  the  odds  of  life  with  the  great  cour- 
age that  was  inherent  in  her. 

So  time  passed.     The  heat  of  the  summer  les- 


BRISTON  DOES  SOME  THINKING    195 

sened,  the  soft  blue  haze  deepened  on  the  plains, 
and  Indian  Summer  came  overnight.  Its  little  cool 
winds  were  soft  as  the  breath  of  a  child,  the  gold 
of  its  sunlight  thrice  refined  and  tender. 

To  Val  this  mysterious  season,  short-lived  and 
precious,  had  always  been  a  time  of  great  joy,  of 
sweeping  rides  on  Redstar  when  the  world  invited 
and  she  leaped  to  its  very  breast,  when  she  seemed 
more  than  half  wild,  a  thing  of  the  plains  and  sky. 

Now  the  levels  called  to  her  in  vain.  There  was 
no  red  king  to  come  at  her  call,  to  sail  away  be- 
neath her  like  the  flowing  winds  themselves,  and 
there  was  no  joy,  anywhere  in  the  wide  universe,  to 
attend  her. 

All  the  meekness  and  patience  she  had  learned  in 
the  sacred  quiet  of  Refugio  seemed  hollow  mock- 
eries. What  had  she  done  that  this  bitter  cup  must 
come  to  her?  Ah — but  Christ  drank  the  brew  upon 
the  cross.  And  He  was  innocent  as  any  lamb.  So 
she  went  about  her  daily  duties  with  a  grip  upon 
herself,  and  there  was  no  shame  within  her  that  she 
loved  the  Black  Rustler,  only  a  sorrow  so  vast  that 
it  darkened  all  the  world.  And  added  to  the  pain 
was  such  a  fear  that  cold  sweat  stood  upon  her  tem- 
ples under  the  little  curls  Velantrie  had  longed 
to  touch,  and  her  heart  seemed  very  small  and  tight 
in  her  breast. 

For  this  fear  sprang  from  the  thought  of  Boyce 
Clendenning  the  man  who  "would  get  what  he 
went  after,''  and  from  knowledge  of  her  father. 
If  these  two  men,  the  flower  of  the  rangeland  to 


196  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

her  mind,  rode  after  the  Rustler  his  doom  was 
sealed.  And  that  doom !  A  dozen  times  she  started 
Tip  in  bed  with  a  choking  cry  at  dreams  of  the  Crag 
Oak  springing  from  the  Blind  Trail  cliffs  with  a 
black  body  swinging  from  its  long,  grotesque  limb ! 
A  slim  dark  body  with  the  moon  behind  it,  its  grace- 
ful limbs  limp  and  swinging  in  the  little  breeze! 
At  each  repetition  of  this  awful  dream  the  girl 
would  cover  her  face  with  her  shaking  hands  and  sit 
huddled  in  her  blankets,  cowering  before  that  stern 
thing.  Life,  and  its  retributions. 

But  still  within  her  there  was  no  shame,  while 
there  was  a  something  she  could  not  define — a  faith, 
a  feeling,  an  intuition,  what  you  will,  that  held  Vel- 
antrie  good  despite  it  all.  Good — ^yes.  Those  deep 
blue  eyes  of  his  with  the  tender  light  that  flamed 
and  flickered,  there  was  gentleness  there,  and  the 
simple  truth  of  the  heart  that  women  know  and 
prize.  The  winning  smile,  the  handclasp,  warm 
and  tight  and  honest — these  came  to  her  tortured 
soul  and  gave  it  comfort.  Whatever  of  wrong  and 
sin  could  be  laid  at  the  Black  Rustler's  door,  she 
knew  within  her  that  he  had  never  harmed  a  child 
or  a  woman  or  a  dog.  And  neither  could  she  recon- 
cile the  loss  of  Redstar  now — ^for  with  that  same 
keen  inner  sense  she  knew  Velantrie  had  never 
taken  him.  \ 

So  the  days  went  by  on  leaden  feet,  sweet  blue 
days,  hazy,  soft,  filled  with  the  mystery  of  spring, 
the  mild  content  of  summer,  the  forecast  of  the  fall. 

Sometimes  Val  turned  her  eyes  to  where  Mesa 


BKISTON  DOES  SOME  THINKING    X97 

Grande  stood  like  a  flat-topped  mountain,  and  then 
she  grew  weak  in  the  knees  with  memory  of  that 
last  terrible  day,  leaned  against  a  wall  and  slow 
tears  filled  her  eyes. 

Verily  what  Father  Hillair^  had  hoped  would 
always  pass  her  by,  had  found  her  out — she  who 
was  "  born  to  peace  and  the  even  way  of  honour 
and  of  happiness ! ''  Sorrow  had  set  its  seal  upon 
her,  tragedy  held  a  hovering  hand  above  her  head. 
■And  every  rider  at  the  rancho  was  beginning  to 
feel,  in  varying  degrees,  that  the  trouble  which  had 
so  changed  the  Pride  of  Paradise  had  to  do  with 
that  far-past  night  at  Hunnewell's  and  the  man 
they  were  beginning  to  call  the  Black  Eustler, 
though  how  or  why  they  could  not  figure  out. 

Briston  smoked  many  cigarettes  under  the  stars 
and  wove  long  webs  of  thought  and  a  great  unrest 
was  on  his  faithful  heart.  He  saw  many  things  that 
others  did  not  and  he  watched  several  persons 
covertly — among  them  Jos^. 

He  had  long  watched  Jos^.  The  slim  brown 
Mexican  was  very  clever,  very  quiet  and  contained. 
Miguel  and  Arias,  the  latter  long  since  keeping 
house  with  pretty  Felicita  in  the  good  cabin  beyond 
the  third  corral — they  were  clear  ponds  compared 
to  him.    Also  the  Indian  vaqueros. 

Jos^,  now,  Jose  with  his  fathomless  eyes  and  his 
silent  step — who  on  the  rancho  so  well  fitted  to 
leave  the  place  in  the  night  and  be  back  at  dawn 
with  no  one  the  wiser?  Who,  for  instance,  with  the 
adroit  cunning  to  wrap  a  horse's  feet?    Who  made 


198  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

such  fancy  hackamores — to  bind  a  restless  nose? 
And  whose  eyes,  among  all  the  riders,  lifted  to  the 
boss's  with  just  that  lightning  flicker,  fell  so 
swiftly  when  the  flash  between  the  two  was  done? 
Yea,  verily — Tom  Briston  wasted  long  night 
hours  when  he  might  have  slept,  and  much  good 
tobacco — thinking. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY 

ONCE  more  Santa  Leandra  drowsed  beneath 
its  trees.  Like  an  ancient  dame  among 
towns  she  sat  above  her  priceless  stream,  her 
old  head  nodding  in  the  haze,  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap.  Her  doors  were  open  to  the  soft  winds  and 
the  sunshine,  her  countless  babies  brawled  in  her 
silent  streets,  her  nondescript  dogs  slept  on  her 
sills. 

Marta  Winne,  still  unlovely  of  person  and  virtu- 
ous, gossipped  in  her  mossy  back  yard  with  a 
woman  in  faded  calico  and  slatted  sunbonnet. 

"  Th'  little  hussy  gets  worse  an'  worse,"  she  said, 
"  she's  hard  an'  calculatin'  an'  full  of  laughter.  You 
can't  tell  me!  She's  brewin'  trouble  again  an'  I 
know  it.  If  Brideman  had  a  woman,  some  one'd 
better  warn  her — ^but  he  ain't,  not  that  I  ever 
heard  of." 

'^  No,"  said  the  other  woman,  "  I  guess  he  ain't. 
An'  it's  a  good  thing,  too,  for  Brideman's  a  strange 
man.  He's  always  comin'  and  goin',  with  money 
in  every  pocket — an'  where's  he  get  it?  as  I  says  to 
John.  Where's  he  get  it?  An'  all  th'  funny  things 
he  plays  away — th'  ivory  hand,  f 'r  instance — that 
same  that  Lolo  wears  on  a  chain  around  her  neck 
now — an'  th'  old  ring  with  the  poison  blade  in  it." 

199 


200  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

She  shook  her  head  darkly.  "  Yes,  it's  well  he  ain't 
married." 

"  He's  in  today,"  said  Marta,  "  see  that  big  raw- 
bone  horse  of  his  tied  under  Sanchez'  trees?  I  bet 
th'  Mexican's  wild  inside  him  at  that.  He's  got  no 
love  for  Brideman,  none  in  th'  least." 

True  enongh.  At  the  tumble-down  picket  fence 
that  flanked  the  Sanchez  cabin  there  stood  a  huge 
dark  horse,  ill  made  and  awkward,  its  slug  head 
drowsily  hanging,  its  broad  hips  slung  sidewise  as 
it  rested.  It  was  hung  together  like  a  scaffold,  and 
it  seemed  its  giant  bones  must  creak  when  it  moyed, 
— ^but  there  was  not  a  man  in  Santa  Leandra  who 
knew  that  when  it  squared  away  in  action  with  the 
open  plain  for  field  there  was  not  a  horse  in  all  the 
rangeland  that  could  catch  it,  neither  Dollar,  nor 
Silkskin,  nor  yet  five  of  Hannon's  Red  Brood — 
save  and  except  that  lost  glory  of  Paradise,  Red- 
star,  the  king — that  Lightning  himself  could  do  no 
more  than  run  with  it. 

For  this  ungainly  horse  was  part  of  the  mystery 
that  was  Brideman,  and  he  had  never  entered  the 
town  upon  it  faster  than  a  trot.  Today  it  seemed 
asleep,  slow,  sluggish,  stupid.  But  the  big  man 
leaning  on  the  pickets  with  Lolo's  hand  in  his  in 
open  sight,  knew  that  should  he  leap  to  its  saddle 
with  a  certain  sharp  command  it  could,  and  would, 
spring  out  of  its  lazy  droop  like  a  spring  released. 

But  Brideman  was  not  riding  this  day.  He  had 
just  come  and  he  meant  to  stay  long,  for  Lolo 
smiled  at  him  in  a  way  that  made  him  mad  with 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY       201 

desire — and  there  was  likely  to  be  play  at  Hunne- 
welFs,  since  he  saw  the  hard  lean  horses  of  Velan- 
trie's  band  tied  at  the  hitchrack. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  great  red  stallion 
with  the  sweeping  mane  and  tail,  the  dusky  cloud 
drifting  across  shoulder  and  hip  where  the  dim 
black  dapples  shone,  the  regal  head  and  the  flash- 
ing dark  eyes.  To  any  one  who  had  once  seen  him 
he  was  unmistakable. 

Inside,  the  quick-eyed  bunch  who  followed  him 
stood  round  Velantrie  at  the  bar  and  waited  on 
HunnewelFs  deft  hands  for  the  refreshment  for 
v^hich  their  throats  were  parching. 

For  Velantrie  had  not  left  the  rangeland — only 
a  certain  enchanted  part  of  it.  He  rode  no  more 
by  Mesa  Grande  save  as  he  came  to  Santa  Leandra, 
and  the  pale  walls  of  the  Mission  haunted  him  like 
a  ghost.  Even  the  old  town  would  soon  be  a  thing 
of  his  past,  for  he  was  all  but  ready  to  move  on  into 
that  vast  and  illimitable  West  along  the  Border 
where  all  his  ilk  drift  sooner  or  later. 

There  was  one  last  thread  to  slip  his  feeling  fin- 
gers down,  to  trace  to  its  end — and  then  adieu,  all 
dreams,  all  faint  visions  of  that  high  plane  on 
which  he  had  wandered  vicariously  these  past  ^ew 
months.  For  some  one,  a  meek  brown  Mexican  who 
hung  about  the  town,  had  dropped  an  artless  word 
concerning  a  horse,  a  great  red  horse,  tall  and  slim 
and  shining  with  red  fire,  whose  speed  was  said  to 
be  as  the  winds  themselves,  on  whose  shoulders; 
there  was  a  misty  cloud  of  black!    That  was  all. 


202  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

Neither  where  this  horse  lived  nor  who  was  his 
owner,  and  Velantrie,  looking  carelessly  away  at 
some  point  of  the  compass,  had  not  asked.  But  a 
fire  was  in  his  heart,  as  always  when  he  found,  or 
thought  he  found,  a  faint  line  in  the  dust  to  follow. 

So  he  came,  now  and  again,  to  Santa  Leandra 
and  always  his  soul  strained  at  its  bonds  of  flesh 
to  hear  all,  see  all,  feel  all  and  betray  none  of  what 
it  gathered. 

Lolo  Sanchez  he  saw  once  and  again,  but  to  save 
his  life  he  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  her  face,  the 
sound  of  her  voice  with  its  hard  shrill  gaiety.  She 
had  cost  him  too  much,  he  thought  savagely. 

And  yet,  had  he  threshed  the  thing  out  with  his 
usual  cool  judgment  he  would  have  known  that 
Lolo  had  forced  the  great  decision  at  which  he  had 
faltered  so  long.  Forced  it,  yes — for  deep  down  in 
his  heart  he  was  not  sure  that  he  could  have  ridden 
away  from  Mesa  Grande  with  Val  Hannon's  kiss 
upon  his  lips  had  it  not  been  just  as  it  was.  He  had 
said  he  was  decided — but  could  he  have  made  it 
good,  under  those  true  brown  eyes  with  the  tears  in 
them? 

This  thought  was  with  him  today  as  he  stood 
frowning  at  the  bar — and  he  snapped  his  fingers, 
shook  his  head. 

"  Water,"  he  said  to  Hunnewell  when  the  glasses 
were  filled. 

Then  he  moved  among  the  booted  and  spurred 
cowboys,  selected  a  chair  a  little  to  one  side  with 
his  back  toward  the  wall  and  his  eyes  toward  the 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY       203 

door — a  never-failing  precaution  with  him — and 
sat  down.  He  drew  money  from  his  pockets  and 
reached  for  the  cards  that  lay,  new  in  their  bind- 
ings, on  the  dirty  canvas  table  top.  As  he  did  so, 
Brideman  loomed  in  the  doorway,  searching  the 
crowd  with  his  hilarious  blue  eyes. 

"  Hel — lo ! ''  he  shouted,  ''  th'  young  feller  that 
once  floored  Brideman !  Back  f 'r  more  play !  Play 
with  me,  young  'un?'' 

"  Sure,"  said  Velantrie,  briefly,  looking  up,  ^'  we 
play  with  any."  He  was  the  only  man  in  the  coun- 
try who  would  not  have  added  the  usual  ^'  one." 

The  old  reckless  gaiety  and  light  were  in  his 
face  intensified  a  thousandfold,  though  somehow 
changed.  Where  it  had  once  been  joyous,  carefree, 
youthful  vim  that  lighted  his  mobile  features,  now 
it  was  a  certain  hardness,  a  forced  cheer.  The 
pleasant  gentleness  of  his  eyes  was  gone.  They  were 
impatient,  quick,  taking  stock  of  this  and  that  as 
if  for  a  purpose. 

Hunnewell,  nonchalantly  wiping  up  his  ancient 
bar,  glanced  at  him  and  saw  the  <phange. 

"This  here  Don  Kee-ota,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  ain't  jest  th'  same.  Perhaps — ^jest  perhaps,  now 
— he's  heard  this  Black  Rustler  talk — but  he's  a 
brave  man  if  he  has,  an'  still  comes  into  Santa 
Leandra  where  every  man  is  watchin'." 

And  the  unspoken  word  was  true  in  all  respects. 
Velantrie  was  a  brave  man — and  all  the  town  was 
watching. 

Brideman  came  in  with  a  rattle  of  spurs,  a  heave 


204  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

and  lurch  of  his  massive  body,  pulled  out  a  chair 
and  sat  down  facing  him,  laid  money  on  the  table, 
and  the  game  was  on. 

Far  out  across  the  levels  to  the  south  and  east 
two  riders  came  on  swift  horses,  and  they  would 
have  challenged  any  eye  beholding.  Both  horses 
and  riders  seemed  "  the  best  in  their  line  " — Light- 
ning and  Redcloud,  shining  in  their  perfection,  can- 
tering gracefully,  neither  hurrying  nor  hanging 
back  but  covering  ground  in  that  amazing  efficiency 
of  the  really  fast  horse — John  Hannon  and  his 
daughter  erect  in  their  saddles  with  the  martial 
carriage  that  marked  them  both.  They  rode  ex- 
actly alike — ^in  every  motion,  every  posture.  If 
Val  had  been  a  son  she  would  have  been  her  father's 
double.  As  it  was  she  was,  as  she  had  once  told 
Velantrie,'  "  a  chip  ofiE  the  old  block." 

They  were  headed  for  the  distant  town  and  they 
talked  desultorily  of  this  and  that,  and  fell  silent 
for  long  spaces.  Your  true  plainsman  can  be  elo- 
quently silent,  and  comfortably  so  as  well. 

In  one  of  these  long  intervals  Val  was  thinking, 
as  she  thought  so  often,  of  Velantrie,  and  her  face, 
despite  the  care  she  was  exercising  lately  to  control 
it,  showed  the  sadness  of  her  heart. 

"  Dad,"  she  said  presently,  "  what  constitutes  a 
good  man?" 

Her  father  glanced  swiftly  at  her  under  his  hat 
brim. 

"  A  brave  man,  an'  a  quick  one  on  th'  trigger," 
he  said. 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY       205 

^'  Right  or  wrong?  '^ 

"  Bah/'  said  the  Boss  of  Paradise,  "  what's  right 
an'  wrong?  Right — to  make,  an'  keep,  your  fam'ly 
happy — to  succeed  in  everything  you  undertake. 
Wrong — to  fail  in  both." 

"  It's  a  funny  world,"  she  said  again  some  time 
later. 

^^  Mighty  good  world,"  answered  Hannon, 
^^  there's  no  end  to  its  chances — if  a  man  knows 
how  t'  play  them,  an'  has  courage." 

The  girl  grew  deep  in  reverie  and  said  no  more, 
and  the  plain  swept  back  and  Santa  Leandra 
loomed  before  them,  drowsy,  basking  in  the  blue- 
gold  haze.  Then  they  cantered  down  the  street  and 
stopped  at  Hunnewell's. 

As  they  dismounted  Val  turned  to  tie  Redcloud 
— and  stopped  in  her  tracks,  her  hands  arrested  on 
the  rein,  her  mouth  fallen  open.  Her  eyes,  widened 
to  their  limit,  stared  helplessly.  Then  a  flood  of 
joy  burned  over  her  face  from  brow  to  throat  and 
she  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  that  was  half  a 
sob. 

''Redstar!''  she  cried,  ''Oh—Redstar!''  And 
flung  herself  against  the  hitchrack  to  reach  her 
frantic  arms  for  the  great  head  among  its  cloud  of 
mane. 

But  it  was  well  the  hitchrack  was  between — for 
the  stallion,  unused  to  women,  owning  but  one  mas- 
ter among  men,  savage  by  instinct  and  quick  as 
lightning,  sprang  up,  the  full  length  of  his  rein,  on 
his  hind  legs.    His  ears  flattened  to  his  head,  bowed 


206  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

on  his  arching  neck,  his  eyes  flashed  with  rage  and 
enmity^  his  teeth  gleamed  in  his  open  mouth,  and  he 
came  down  striking  the  rail  with  his  iron-shod 
forefeet,  a  raving  demon. 

With  a  gasp  the  girl  fell  back,  her  face  like  ashes. 
For  a  tranced  moment  she  stood  so,  while  into  her 
mind  there  flashed  the  words  of  Velantrie,  "wild, 
screaming,  furious  ...  he  literally  drove  them 
into  the  pass." 

This  was  not  Kedstar — ^but — The  Comet!  The 
Comet — double  of — The  Meteor — once  within  two 
seconds  of  the  world's  record  at  New  Orleans !  And 
she  had  taken  him,  literally  and  instinctively,  for 
Redstar,  the  king  of  the  Red  Brood ! 

Certain  things  were  getting  tragically  mixed, 
hopelessly  entangled.  A  vague  misgiving  rose  in 
her  breast  and  gripped  her.  What  did  these  things 
mean?  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  her 
father. 

A  little  way  apart  John  Hannon  stood  looking 
at  The  Comet — and  she  did  not  know  him !  Another 
John  Hannon  it  was — a  tense,  poised  man  with  his 
hand  upon  his  gun,  with  nostrils  that  shook  in  and 
out,  and  with  hard  dark  eyes  that  shone  and  glit- 
tered with  excitement ! 

"  Dad !  "  she  breathed,  but  he  did  not  hear  her. 

Instead  he  was  thinking  fast,  while  a  strange  un- 
certainty sat  upon  him.  He  moved  at  last,  as  if  to 
take  saddle  again — then  stopped,  threw  up  his  head 
with  a  motion  Val  had  never  seen  in  him,  and  came 
back  to  himself  with  a  jerk. 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY       207 

"Well,"  he  said  collectedly,  "let's  go  into  Hun- 
newell's." 

Inside,  the  men  playing  at  the  tables  had  heard 
the  stir  of  arrival,  but  arrivals  were  common  at 
Hunnewell's.  Therefore  they  paid  it  no  atten- 
tion. 

None  .save  Velantrie.  Though  he  placed  his 
money  and  went  on  with  the  game,  he  yet  heard  and 
knew  that  two  people  were  coming  up  the  steps  to 
the  open  porch — but  he  did  not  know  that  of  all 
people  in  the  world  they  were  to  him  the  most  im- 
portant. He  moved  the  cards  in  his  hand,  shifted 
the  cigarette  in  his  lips,  frowned  through  the  smoke 
— and  glanced  at  the  door. 

In  the  next  second  there  was  the  sound  of  a  fall- 
ing chair,  a  catlike  leap,  and  Velantrie  of  the  Bor- 
der was  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  his  gun  in  his 
hand  and  his  blue  eyes  narrowed  to  cold  points — 
for  John  Hannon's  face  was  in  the  doorway ! 

Two  shots  sounded  as  one — and  Velantrie 
whirled,  fired  again,  wildly,  and  recovered — but 
Hannon's  gun  was  on  him,  the  hard  dark  eyes  men- 
acing him  with  instant  death. 

"  Well,"  said  the  cattleman  evenly,  "  what's 
this?" 

"  The  end,"  said  Velantrie  sharp  as  a  shot,  "  for 
one  of  us." 

He  put  out  a  hand  and  caught  a  table  near. 

"  Shoot  me/'  he  said  again  in  that  rapid  way, 
"as  you  did  my  father — ^you  damned  murderer! 
Take  The  Comet  as  you  took "    But  John  Han- 


208  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

non's  finger  jerked  before  the  word  was  done  and 
once  again  the  big  gun  spoke — spoke  with  the  intent 
of  death  and  silence  for  that  rushing  tongue.  But 
fate  and  justice  seemed  to  favour  Hunnewell's,  for 
on  that  instant  Val  from  behind  caught  her  father's 
shoulder,  just  as  she  had  caught  the  blond  boy's, 
and  swung  him  out  of  line.  Her  face  stood  where 
his  had  been  a  second  before  and  filled  Velantrie's 
vision  with  its  likeness  to  that  other. 

Feature  for  feature  and  line  for  line  it  was  the 
same!  Woman-soft  where  the  other  was  eagle- 
keen,  its  long  eyes  smiling  where  those  were  hard  as 
flint — it  was  the  same  yet  not  the  same!  In  that 
first  strained  look  Velantrie  knew  why  Val  Han- 
non's  face  had  puzzled  him  so  long ! 

In  awe  and  tragic  wonder  they  stood  for  a  sec- 
ond, staring  tensely,  these  two  who  loved  each 
other  to  the  foundations  of  their  souls.  Then  Vel- 
antrie, his  face  like  the  death  she  had  again 
averted,  groped  blindly  for  a  firmer  hold  on  the 
table  and  swayed  upon  his  feet.  His  blue  eyes 
were  piteous,  his  lips  drawn  with  the  monstrous 
knowledge  that  was  his. 

Then  that  great  goodness  which  was  in  his  heart, 
which  Val  had  dimly  felt,  and  which  made  him 
friends  among  the  children  and  the  dogs,  rose  out 
of  its  depths  of  sin  and  bitterness  and  glorified 
him,  all  unknowingly. 

"  I  beg  your — pardon,''  he  said  as  if  from  a  great 
distance,  "  gentlemen — I  was  mistaken.  This  is — 
not — ^my  man." 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  DOORWAY       209 

Then  he  crumpled  like  a  broken  reed  and  went 
down  in  a  heap. 

With  a  cry  Val  Hannon  sprang  in  among  the 
stirring  men,  snatched  his  fallen  head  and  raised 
it  to  her  breast. 

"  Val/'  murmured  Velantrie  and  said  no  more. 

"  Velantrie !  '^  screamed  the  girl,  unconscious  of 
the  staring  crowd,  "  Oh,  Donald ! '' 

Then   her  father's  hand  was  on  her  shoulder, 

lifting  her  bodily,  a  dozen  other  hands  pulled  the 

.  man  away  from  her,  and  in  the  flurry  that  followed 

she  found  herself  swung  helplessly  into  her  saddle, 

the  reins  put  in  her  fingers. 

"  Eide,"  said  John  Hannon  beside  her,  and  she 
rode — but  the  earth  and  the  heavens  tumbled  about 
her  and  twice  in  the  silent  journey,  when  he  did 
not  deign  to  look  back  where  danger  certainly 
lurked  in  that  bunch  of  men  who  followed  Velan- 
trie, the  Boss  of  Paradise  had  to  steady  his 
daughter  in  her  saddle. 

Not  one  word  did  he  ask  her,  then  or  after,  about 
the  whole  affair,  but  put  her  in  her  own  bed  with 
his  own  hands  and  bade  the  women  leave  her  alone, 
saying  that  she  had  had  a  turn  and  would  be  better 
soon. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  BLACK  RUSTLER  RIDES 

BUT  the  boss  was  mistaken.  Val  was  not  bet- 
ter soon.  For  three  days  she  lay  in  her  bed 
in  the  deep  south  room  and  scarcely  knew 
day  from  darkness.  Belle  was  terribly  distresi^ed 
and  begged  both  her  and  John  for  explanation,  but 
from  the  one  she  got  only  moans  and  silence,  from 
the  other  the  brisk  assurance  that  something  must 
have  happened  to  one  of  the  girl's  friends  in  Lean- 
dra  to  upset  her — "maybe  th'  Texas  boy's  got  him 
another  girl  an'  Val  heard  it,"  he  said,  and  Belle, 
though  she  did  not  believe,  must  needs  be  sat- 
isfied. 

Through  Val's  poor  brain  there  wound  a  tum- 
bling train  of  thoughts,  any  one  of  which  was  cause 
for  despair. 

Was  Velantrie  dead?  Was  her  father's  bullet 
fatal?  And  why  had  John  Hannon  shot  him,  at 
sight — without  a  second's  pause — for  all  the  world 
as  if  he  had  been  prepared  to  do  it  when  he  mounted 
the  steps !  Why  had  he  looked  so  strangely  at  the 
Redstar's  double — with  that  awful  excitement  in 
his  eyes? 

It  was  as  if — as  if — she  swallowed  the  lump  in 
her  throat  that  choked  her — as — ^if  he  recognized 
the  horse! 

210 


THE  BLACK  RUSTLER  RIDES        211 

She  shuddered,  and  closed  her  eyes  and  her  brain 
against  the  thought,  opened  them  both  again  and 
fell  to  the  same  desperate  thinking.  She  was  cold 
with  fear,  numb  and  sick  with  sorrow. 

If  Velantrie  was  dead — Ah,  Mother  Mary !  Never 
in  this  world  would  she  see  sunlight  and  shadow, 
mesa  and  plain  again  with  the  old  sweet  joy.  Life 
would  be  dead  in  her,  like  the  ashes  of  a  burnt-out 
fire. 

But  she  was  young  and  magnificently  healthy — 
and  she  had  the  courage  of  her  father's  blood. 
Therefore  she  rose  and  came  forth  to  confront 
the  household  with  haggard  eyes  and  cheeks  that 
had  thinned  overnight,  it  seemed — to  find  the  riders 
tense  and  silent,  her  mother  sad  with  the  old  lone- 
liness, for  the  boss  was  gone  again.  Once  more 
had  the  far  country  called  him  and  he  had  an- 
swered— answered  on  the  hour,  with  his  eagle  eyes 
alight,  his  nostrils  flaring. 

A  mighty  relief  let  loose  the  breath  in  Val's 
breast,  for  she  did  not  want  to  face  her  father.  If 
Velantrie  was  dead —  Oh,  how  her  soul  wavered 
at  the  unspoken  words! — if — he — was  dead,  she 
knew  in  the  depths  of  her  being  that  she  could  never 
forgive  the  hand  that  had  done  the  trick,  never  look 
into  those  hard  dark  eyes  again  without  black  and 
everlasting  hatred  in  her  own. 

No  matter  what  he  was — ^bandit — lifter — Black 
Rustler  himself — Velantrie  was  her  man  and  she 
was  his  woman  with  all  that  meant  of  blind  fidelity, 
of  faith  and  the  fighting  right  to  stand  by. 


212  yAL  OF  PARADISE 

The  riders  were  horrified  at  her  appearance  and 
silence  fell  upon  them  to  a  man — ^for  Perly  had 
been  to  Santa  Leandra  and  learned  the  whole  affair. 
And  Briston  had  found  the  answer  to  his  puzzle. 
He  knew  now  what  and  who  had  lit  the  glow  that 
had  shone  in  Val's  sweet  face  for  all  these  many 
weeks.  If  it  sent  a  wistful  pain  to  his  own  heart 
he  thought  of  his  years  and  the  good  friendship 
which  was,  and  would  always  be  between  him  and 
the  Pride  of  Paradise,  and  was  content.  And  he 
began  casting  about  in  his  mind — see  how  Love 
serves  its  own — for  a  way  to  avert  the  tragedy  that 
impended  when  the  Black  Rustler  should  again 
ride  in  the  rangeland,  and  the  ranchers  should  ride, 
too. 

And  then  Val  came  to  him  where  he  smoked 
alone  in  the  patio  under  the  stars,  and  put  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  Briston  dropped  his  cigarette 
and  reached  up  to  take  the  hand  in  his,  to  hold  it 
between  his  two  big  palms  in  the  comforting  silence 
of  perfect  understanding. 

And  Val,  heavy-eyed  with  tears,  sank  down  on 
the  bench  beside  him  and  put  her  forehead  where 
the  hand  had  been.  More  than  one  soft  head  had 
rested  on  Briston's  shoulder  in  the  many  years  of 
his  roving,  but  none  that  so  pulled  at  his  heart  as 
this  drooping  black  one. 

Therefore  he  sat  still  and  waited  as  the  perfect 
friend  waits.  Presently,  with  a  sigh,  the  girl  said, 
"  Tom." 

"Yes,  Val." 


THE  BLACK  RUSTLER  RIDES        213 

^^Will  you — can  you — find  out — if  Velan- 
trie '' 

^^  Don't  need  to  find  out.  Perly  was  in  town  a 
day  or  two  back — an'  they  said  at  Hunnewell's  that 
his  men  picked  him  up  an'  took  him  off,  swung 
across  that  horse  of  his  with  a  man  to  help  him 
ride,  an'  that  he  was  comin'  round  then.  Old  Doc 
Tackert  happened  to  be  there  that  day  an'  he  looked 
him  over  before  they  left  an'  said  he  was  not  seri- 
ously hurt.  Th'  ball  went  in  on  th'  left  side  close 
above  th'  heart," — Val  shuddered  against  him — 
*^  you  know,  it  seems  he  was  a  little  to  th'  right  an' 
— an' — John  was  in  th'  door,  so  th'  shot  was 
glancin',  like.  It  hit  a  rib  an'  tore  right  round  it 
to  th'  back  an'  out.  It  was  th'  stroke  of  th'  bullet, 
so  close  against  th'  heart,  that  knocked  him  out. 
Th'  shock,  you  know.  He'll  be  all  right  in  a  matter 
of  days,  a  man  like  him — hard  as  nails.  He'll  come 
round  all  right." 

^^  Bios  gracias!^'  whispered  Val  against  his 
shoulder  and  Briston  felt  the  whole  tightening  of 
her  body,  the  seeming  of  new  life  and  strength  that 
tingled  in  her  at  his  blessed  words.  She  straight- 
ened up  and  pressed  his  hand  and  a  great  breath 
fluttered  on  her  lips,  a  sigh  of  such  relief  as  only 
words  of  life  can  bring.  Thus  love  served  its  own 
in  Briston's  heart  and  made  him  glad  at  her 
joy. 

But  trouble  was  on  Paradise  and  no  mistake. 
The  whole  crowd  was  distressed  to  the  bottom  of 
their  adoring  souls  that  their  Val,  their  Pride  of 


214  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Paradise,  had  shown  the  world  of  Santa  Leandra 
her  interest  in  the  Black  Rustler !  It  would  be  on 
every  tongue  in  the  rangeland — and  what  compli- 
cations might  not  arise  from  it!  Into  what  sin- 
ister inferences  of  association  between  Paradise 
and  the  Black  Rustler's  band  would  it  not  be  con- 
strued ! 

And  they  were  right.  Talk  was  stirring  in  every 
nook  and  corner.  Clendenning  heard  of  the  affair 
and  studied  it  from  every  angle,  and  finally  came 
clear  with  his  faith  untarnished. 

"  Nobody  knows  what  a  girl  will  feel  for  a  hand- 
some man/'  he  said  gamely,  "  but  I'd  stake  on  John 
Hannon.     He  shot  him,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,"  they  argued  back,  "  but  what'd  th'  Rus- 
tler say?  Accused  Hannon  of  killin'  his  father  an' 
takin'  somethin'  which  he  didn't  specify.  Knew 
each  other,  didn't  they?  Been  together  sometime, 
hadn't  they?" 

But  Clendenning  shook  his  head, 

"  I  stake  on  John,"  he  said. 

So  the  rangeland  drowsed.  The  Indian  Summer 
passed  and  the  first  breath  of  frost  came  down 
upon  the  land,  turning  its  sparse  green  to  brown. 
The  fall  round-up  loomed  on  the  horizon — and  the 
boss  was  still  away.  Briston  watched  things  and 
persons  with  anxious  eyes — and  he  did  not  let  Job6 
out  of  range,  day  or  night. 

Val  was  her  old  self,  busy,  efficient,  save  for  a 
new  gravity,  a  strong  repression  that  was  with  her 


THE  BLACK  EUSTLER  RIDES        215 

always.  She  went  often  to  Refugio,  hoping  against 
hope  for  word  of  Velantrie,  but  Father  Hillair^  w^as 
helpless  to  give  it  her.  The  oblivion  of  the  Border 
had  swallowed  him  at  last,  and  deep  in  his  wise  old 
heart  the  priest  hoped  that  it  would  keep  him. 
Dear  as  the  boy  was  to  him  the  girl  was  dearer. 
Belle  was  planning  her  little  pretty  changes 
against  her  husband's  coming — a  new  table  for  his 
pipe  and  books  this  time,  a  little  new  tune,  made 
up  entirely  from  her  own  fancies  and  worked  out 
by  her  clever  fingers,  a  cushion  for  his  particular 
chair. 

And  far  in  the  Blind  Trail  Hills  poor  Red- 
star  ran  his  endless  circle,  called  at  the  twilights, 
tore  at  the  saplings  and  ate  out  his  heart,  while  far 
across  the  miles  his  beloved  answered  that  unheard 
cry. 

One  by  one  the  days  went  by  and  nothing  new 
stirred  in  the  cattle  country.  It  was  hard  on  driv- 
ing time  and  Briston  was  wishing  fervently  for  the 
boss.  Other  outfits  would  be  at  the  round-up  and 
he  must  needs  send  riders  here  and  there  to  look 
out  for  the  interests  of  Paradise,  as  they  would 
send  to  him,  and  he  did  not  like  to  spare  any  of  his 
men.  Why,  he  scarcely  knew,  but  it  was  so.  He  did 
not  leave  the  home  ranch  himself  these  times  when 
Hannon  was  away,  and  there  was  plenty  to  see  to, 
indeed. 

The  boys  were  overhauling  the  chuck-wagon, 
looking  to  saddles  and  ropes.  The  feeling  of  fall 
was  in  the  air. 


216  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

And  then  came  a  night,  soft  and  dark  with  many 
stars  in  the  early  hours  and  with  promise  of  a  great 
white  moon  very  late. 

It  was  one  of  the  few  nights  left  in  the  lap  of 
summer  from  which  the  warmth  was  spilling  fast, 
and  Val  swung  in  the  fringed  hammock  and  talked 
in  a  low  voice  with  the  men.  Briston  smoked  on 
his  accustomed  bench,  Siff  and  Rosy  lounged  on  the 
hard  dry  earth,  their  slim  young  figures  relaxed, 
while  Dirk  and  Perly  shared  another  hammock 
nearer  to  Bluewater. 

Out  by  the  bunk-house  one  of  the  vaquero^ 
strummed  an  old  guitar  and  sung  a  Spanish  love- 
song  in  a  voice  like  a  harp.  At  a  window  of  the 
darkened  kitchens  Fanita  listened.  Inside  the 
adobe  house  Belle  Hannon,  to  whom  all  night  was 
day,  all  day  night,  played  softly  her  plaintive 
tunes.  Never  in  her  after  life  could  Val  bear  to 
hear  such  music  in  the  dark. 

She  talked  in  broken  sentences  with  Briston, 
looking  up  at  the  stars.  A  thousand  things  moiled 
through  her  mind  and  she  gave  them  voice,  secure 
in  the  loving  friendship  that  encompassed  her. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  asked  dad  once  what  con- 
stituted a  good  man — and  he  said  ^a  brave  one, 
quick  on  the  trigger.'    What  would  you  say?  " 

The  foreman  smoked  silently  a  while.  Then  he 
knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigarette. 

"A  good  man,  Val,"  he  said,  "is  the  man  who 
deals  squarely  by  his  fellows  an'  has  such  honest 
love  of  humanity  in  his  heart  that  he  can  help  th' 


THE  BLACK  RUSTLER  RIDES        217 

helpless,  even  at  risk  of  his  neck — such  love  for  one 
woman  that  he  can  serve  her  all  his  life,  either  re- 
warded or  unrewarded — a  man  who  can  sacrifice.'' 

What  gentle  intent  was  in  the  speaker's  mind 
only  he  knew,  and  he  said  no  more.  But  Val  had 
instant  food  for  thought — as  perhaps  he  had  in- 
tended. 

Help  the  helpless!  Ah — ^it  was  Velantrie  who 
did  that — at  risk  of  his  neck,  literally — who  robbed 
the  rich  in  that  cruel  country  across  the  line  to 
give  to  the  poor — who  hunted  among  the  jacals  for 
the  deserter  that  he  might  bring  him  and  happi- 
ness to  poor  Maria.  ...  A  sick  longing  to  see 
the  face  that  made  her  think  of  light  behind  a  cur- 
tain came  over  her  and  she  bit  her  lip,  suddenly 
tremulous.  .  .  .  Belle's  sweet  music,  now — it 
made  her  heart  ache  with  a  nameless  grief,  a  pre- 
sentiment of  sorrow  that  is  old  as  human  blood. 
.  .  .  And  the  golden  voice  of  the  vaquero,  faint 
in  the  night.  How  they  made  her  feel  the  mon- 
strous might  of  life,  the  futility  of  all  human  plans, 
all  loves,  all  priceless  things  of  this  earth! 

And  then,  sudden  as  a  shot  in  the  silence,  came 
the  voice  of  Perly  from  the  other  hammock. 

"Tom,"  it  cried  sharply,  "look  there!  'An' 
there ! — an'  yonder ! " 

With  a  spring  the  boy  was  on  his  feet,  a  slim 
shape,  straight  in  the  dusk. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  cried  again,  "  th'  signal-fires ! 
Boys — th'  Rustler  rides  tonight !  " 

Without  another  word  he  flung  himself  from  the 


218  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

patio  and  they  heard  the  sound  of  his  running  feet 
as  he  went  toward  the  corrals.  True  enough.  From 
down  at  the  south  where  El  Eancho  Eio  lay  on  the 
skyline  there  rose  on  the  still  dark  a  tall  pillar  of 
flame  that  was  already  answered  from  the  south- 
west and  the  west. 

Tom  Briston  stood  tense,  reading  their  messages. 

"  Eaid/'  the  one  fire  said,  "  at  the  flying  Y." 

He  turned  and  looked  west. 

'^  We  circle  south,"  three  red  flares  said. 

Southeast  two  signals  placed  far  apart  told  the 
rangeland,  "We  ride  north,"  and  beside  the  tall 
fire  at  the  south  two  small  ones  close  together  bore 
Clendenning's  faithful  promise. 

"  We'll  close  in  on  the  Blind  Trail  pass  from  the 
south." 

Thus  was  a  net  formed,  a  trap  laid,  and  anything 
driving  within  its  circle  had  best  ride  fast  for  the 
pass — for  the  horses  of  the  plains  would  soon  be 
out.  And  they  were  hard  to  beat,  those  horses  that 
had  run  at  Santa  Leandra.  Dollar,  the  gallant  grey 
with  the  dapples  on  his  hip — Silkskin,  swift  as 
waters  flowing,  black  and  wild — and  all  of  Han- 
non's  Eed  Brood  that  stamped  in  the  home  corrals 
— for  the  ranchers  were  pledged  to  this  and  all 
must  go. 

With  one  accord  the  cowboys  followed  Perly, 
shouting,  snatching  spur  and  bridle  as  they  ran — 
the  guitar  out  at  the  bunk-house  ceased  its  strum- 
ming, stopped  by  a  flattening  hand  on  its  strings — 
the  vaqueros  ran  to  the  horses  too. 


THE  BLACK  EUSTLER  RIDES        219 

Only  Bristoii  was  left  for  a  moment  standing  in 
the  patio.  A  gasp  caught  his  ear — a  deep,  short 
breath  that  seemed  to  come  from  drowning  lungs— 
and  Val  Hannon  stood  beside  him,  swaying  on  her 
feet  like  a  drunkard. 

"Tom,"  she  gasped,  still  as  if  she  could  not 
breathe,  "  Tom — my  friend " 

Briston  caught  her  tightly  in  the  bend  of  his  arm 
and  looked  into  her  face  that  shone  white  in  the 
dark  like  a  moon  in  fog. 

"  Yes,  Val  darling,"  he  said. 

"  If "    Again  that  awful  gasping  breath. 

The  girl  gripped  her  hands,  steadied  her  swaying 
body  with  the  old  sweet  strength.  Then  the  words 
came  a  bit  more  strongly. 

"  If — they  catch  the — Black  Rustler  this  night — 
don't — don't  let — them — the  Crag  Oak " 

She  wet  her  lips  that  were  stiff  and  cold — reached 
out  a  groping  hand  and  touched  the  gun  that 
always  hung  at  the  foreman's  belt. 

"  Shoot — him,  Tom,"  she  said  thickly,  "  straight 
— ah !  " — ^it  was  a  sighing  breath — "  in — the — fore- 
head— for  me ! " 

"  I  will,"  said  Briston  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  GREATER  LOVE  HATH    NO  MAN  " 

TRAGEDY  breathed  upon  the  rangeland. 
Father  Hillair^  felt  it,  pacing  in  his  dry  gar- 
den and  counting  his  beads.  He  was  think- 
ing of  Velantrie's  soul. 

Belle  Hannon  felt  it  and  ceased  her  plaintive 
playing.  She  came,  sure  of  foot  in  the  darkness, 
to  the  east  door  that  opened  into  the  patio. 

«Val!''  she  called. 

The  girl,  clinging  to  the  trunk  of  the  cottonwood 
tree  that  stood  above  Bluewater,  while  she  tried  to 
beat  her  heart  to  bravery  and  hope,  essayed  three 
times  to  answer  that  call.  Always  when  her  mother 
spoke  she  must  reply,  for  she  was  that  rare  and 
perfect  thing,  a  true  and  loving  daughter.  But  her 
numb  lips  would  not  frame  sl  word,  her  dry  throat 
worked  up  and  down  soundlessly.  Then  she  shook 
herself  together  by  a  supreme  effort. 

"  Yes,  Belle  dear,''  she  said. 

"  Eh? ''  said  Belle,  instantly  alarmed,  "  what's  the 
matter,  Val?" 

And  Val  answered,  as  she  must,  though  the  words 
seemed  to  tear  out  of  her  stifling  heart. 

^'  Signal-fires,"  she  said,  "  that  say — the  Rustler's 
—out!" 

"  Great  goodness ! "  said  Belle,  "  Thank  Heaven 

220 


"  GEEATER  LOVE  HATH  NO  MAN  "    221 

—at  last !  And  Boyce  Clendenning  rides,  of  course. 
Oh,  how  I  wish  John  were  here!  But  Boyce  will 
do  the  trick  if  it  is  possible.    Let's  hope  it  is." 

The  girl  by  the  cottonwood  looked  at  her 
mother  with  strained  and  piteous  eyes.  Then  she 
dragged  her  body  forward  and  took  the  reaching 
hand. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed,"  said  Belle;  "  good-night, 
dear." 

Val  leaned  and  kissed  her,  listened  dully  to  her 
steps  returning  into  the  house. 

Then  she,  too,  entered  and  groped  her  way,  more 
blindly  than  Belle  had  ever  done,  into  the  far  depths 
of  her  own  south  room. 

She  stumbled  among  the  rugs,  traversed  its  great 
length  as  in  a  dream,  and  fell  upon  her  knees  before 
the  life-size  statue  of  the  Virgin  Mary  that  stood  in 
an  alcove  beyond  the  ancient  bed.  Upon  the  waxen 
feet  on  the  pedestal  above  her  she  laid  her  no  less 
waxen  face  and  fell  to  praying  as  she  had  never 
prayed  in  all  her  life — ^f or  the  soul  of  the  Black 
Eustler. 

And  far  away  in  the  shadowed  levels  the  Black 
Rustler  himself  played  his  last  great  game.  A  mad 
delight  was  in  his  heart,  the  daring  and  reckless 
courage  that  had  marked  him  on  the  Border  rode 
high  in  him— like  a  wind  whipping  a  prairie  fire. 
It  whipped  him  to  strong  deeds,  to  the  fine  point 
of  the  long  odds,  to  the  joy  of  beating  the  ranchers 
by  the  width  of  a  hair.    He  rode  a  horse  upon  whose 


222  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

gallantry  he  could  depend — though  there  was  one 
other  he  had  rather  had  beneath  him — and  by  his 
side  rode  his  aid  and  lieutenant,  companion  of  an 
hundred  night-rides,  a  huge  bulk  of  a  man  on  a 
powerful,  raw-boned  horse. 

It  was  not  fat  steers  they  took  this  night,  neither 
anything  that  a  man  might  need,  but  something 
to  cut  the  loser  with  a  lash  of  chagrin  and  rage — 
namely  Black  Princess,  the  fine  young  mare  of 
whom  the  Flying  Y  had  boasted  much  for  this 
year's  races.  Gentle-hearted,  tractable,  the  Prin- 
cess ran  between  their  running  horses,  making  for 
the  distant  pass  into  the  Blind  Trail  Hills,  and  the 
rising  note  of  their  speed  proved  that  there  was 
something  in  her,  that  the  boasts  had  had  founda- 
tion. 

From  time  to  time  the  Black  Rustier  rose  in  his 
stirrups  and  scanned  the  world  around  with  its 
spires  of  flame  upon  the  darkness,  and  at  each  sight 
he  whooped  with  a  mad  laughter  and  struck  a  fist 
upon  his  pommel. 

"  Their  little  fires ! ''  he  cried,  "  their  horses ! 
Their  cocksure  faith!  While  th'  Black  Rustler 
rides  out  of  their  net  like  an  eel ! '' 

But  their  little  fires  covered  a  further  readiness 
than  he  could  know,  their  faith  was  solid  as  a  rock 
— for  many  men  were  far  along  the  sides  of  the  net 
before  the  fires  were  set,  and  some  of  them  had 
known  for  three  days  that  the  Black  Princess  was 
to  go  tonight !  In  fact  the  pass  was  guarded  by  five 
men  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliff,  their  six-guns  wait- 


"  GREATER  LOVE  HATH  NO  MAN  ''    223 

ing — and  some  one  carried  a  good  rope  at  his  sad- 
dlebow. 

For  old  Dame  Fate  was  pleased  to  make  a  play  in 
the  rangeland — and  her  bells  were  set  to  ring  on 
the  Rustler's  number. 

So  time  passed  and  Val  on  her  knees,  her  pale 
hands  gripping  the  Virgin's  robes,  her  lips  like 
ashes  and  her  dark  eyes  dull  with  agony,  could  not 
count  the  hours. 

Belle  slept  in  her  distant  room  like  a  healthy 
child  and  all  Paradise  was  silent  as  the  dead,  save 
for  the  murmur  of  Bluewater  in  the  patio  and  a 
night  bird  calling  from  the  trees.  The  fires  on  the 
skyline  died  down — and  the  net  drew  in  its  miles- 
wide  circle. 

There  were  more  horses  afoot  in  the  plains  that 
night  than  any  rider  knew.  For  instance — a 
spotted  pinto  pony,  like  a  ghost  in  the  dark — and  a 
great  red  horse  with  a  shadow  on  his  shoulders. 
These  two  met,  by  chance,  where  the  Little  Ante- 
lope cut  down  to  its  ford  beyond  Refugio — and 
there  was  a  peal  of  vixen  laughter,  a  taunt  and  a 
small  fist  shaken  to  the  stars.  The  man  on  the  stal- 
lion caught  his  breath,  thought  swiftly,  and  swore 
a  low-toned  oath. 

For  a  while  he  sat  where  the  flying  pinto  left 
him,  in  the  lee  of  the  cottonwoods,  thinking  as 
swiftly  as  he  had  ever  thought  in  all  his  vivid  life. 
Then  he  drew  a  hand  across  his  eyes  and  rode 
through  the  shallow  waters  to  Refugio. 

And  beyond  the  pass  in  the  Blind  Trail  Hills 


224  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

something  was  happening — something  vital,  that 
would  have  to  do  with  the  play  that  was  coming — 
for  that  top  sapling  in  the  hidden  glade,  long 
thinned  and  bending,  gave  at  last  beneath  the  wor- 
rying teeth,  bent  farther  yet  to  the  push  of  a  broad 
bay  breast — and  the  ends  let  go  from  their  cut 
slots  in  the  wall! 

With  a  hoarse  scream  the  Eedstar,  feeling  the 
barrier  give,  pushed,  felt  of  the  remaining  height 
with  his  bending  neck — and  whirled  from  the  gate 
to  tear  away  up  the  level  floor. 

Far  in  the  centre  he  turned,  leaned  forward, 
poised,  then  stretched  away  in  full  flight  toward  the 
lowered  bars. 

It  was  still  a  splendid  hurdle,  enough  to  tax  his 
full  strength  and  brain,  but  beyond  it  lay  the 
sounding  canons,  the  pass,  the  open  plains — and — 
the  sweet  green  fields  of  home!  Home — and  the 
calling  voice  of  his  beloved — with  the  sweet  scents 
in  her  hair — the  feel  of  love  in  her  caressing  hands ! 

Like  a  wind  upon  a  hill— like  a  kite  above  a 
cloud — like  a  bird  that  skims  a  prairie — the  Red- 
star  took  the  gate!  Free!  Free  as  the  winds  that 
sucked  up  the  gorge,  as  the  untrammelled  waters ! 

He  flung  up  his  great  head,  his  soft  eyes  shining 
like  fox-fire,  and  with  his  mouth  open  and  scream- 
ing his  joy  to  all  the  silent  walls,  the  Redstar  went 
down  the  cut — for  home ! 

The  late  white  moon  was  rising.  At  Refugio 
Father  Hillaire  sat  in  the  darkness  of  his  garden 


''  GREATER  LOVE  HATH  NO  MAN  ''    225 

with  his  head  upon  his  hands.  His  heart  was  dark 
with  sorrow  as  the  garden  with  its  shades.  What 
it  was  that  bore  so  heavily  upon  him  he  could  not 
have  said.  Yet  he  knew,  so  sensitive  and  mysteri- 
ous is  the  loving  heart,  that  the  time  of  tragedy 
had  come.  He  had  prayed  until  his  soul  was  dry  of 
prayer.  Now  he  waited,  bowed  upon  his  table,  on 
the  mercy  of  the  Lord. 

And  the  Black  Rustler,  his  horse's  feet  soft- 
padded,  rode  for  the  guarded  pass  hilariously.  But 
he,  too,  was  keen  as  the  seventh  sense.  He,  too,  felt 
a  mystery  in  the  night  that  he  had  never  felt.  Safe 
enough  yet,  he  stopped  his  headlong  flight,  his 
strong  hands  on  lead-rope  and  rein,  rose  in  his  stir- 
rups and  listened. 

<<  By  ! ''   he  said,  "  there's  danger  at  th' 

pass ! " 

^^  Why?  "  asked  the  big  man  beside  him. 

"  Don't  know,"  he  answered  briefly. 

Without  a  second's  loss  he  turned  and  rode 
toward  the  south. 

"  Where?  "  asked  the  other  man  again. 

"Between  th'  Flyin'  Y  an'  El  Rancho  Rio." 

But  when  a  half -hour  had  passed  and  they  were 
far  down  in  the  open  levels,  once  again  the  leader 
stopped  and  glanced  this  way  and  that.  He  raised 
his  head  like  a  hound  at  fault  and  sniffed  the  cool- 
ing air.  And  just  at  that  moment  a  gunshot  cracked 
far  to  the  west — another  farther  away — one  round 
toward  the  north — 


226  VAL  OP  PAEADISE 

Bark — bark — ^bark — like  the  answering  of  the 
pack  when  the  leader  signals  "  found.''  A  ring  of 
speaking  shots — sign  that,  with  quarry  scented,  the 
net  was  closing  down. 

The  first  cold  fear  struck  into  the  Bustler's 
heart.  He  raised  his  head  yet  higher  and  listened 
in  every  quarter.  Then  he  laughed  again — but  it 
was  different  laughter.  Brief,  hollow,  full  of  a  mad 
excitement.  He  sobered  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
the  man  beside  him. 

«  We've  had  many  a  ride  together,"  he  said,  "  an' 
it's  ben  a  great  life — th'  best  in  its  line — such  a  life 
as  no  other  two  men  on  this  Border  have  ever  lived. 
But  I  think  it's  done  at  last.  This  was  to  have  ben 
th'  best,  th'  most  brilliant — th'  high  watermark 
of  all.  Shake,  old  man.  An' — good-bye.  Turn  th' 
damn  mare  loose — an'  ride — if  there's  any  way  to 
ride  that  these  damn  ranchers  " — there  was  savage 
hatred  in  his  voice — "  ain't  covering." 

He  wrung  the  hand  of  the  silent  man,  who  could 
not  speak  it  seemed,  and  was  away. 

At  Paradise  Val  prayed,  scarce  conscious  of  the 
words  that  trailed  across  her  lips.  Sometimes  it 
was  a  mixture  of  the  words  of  the  Salve  Regina— 
"  Hail,  Holy  Queen — Mother  of  Mercy — our  life — 
our  sweetness  and  our  hope!  .  .  .  Pray  for  us. 
Oh,  Holy  Mother  of  God!"  and  again  the  Litany 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  with  its  adoration,  and  she 
did  not  know  that  for  every  "  us  "  she  substituted 
"  him." 


"  GREATER  LOVE  HATH  NO  MAN  "    227 

And  at  that  hour,  when  the  world  seemed  light- 
ening with  the  rising  moon,  while  Val  prayed  in 
anguish,  while  the  Black  Rustler  rode  away  on  his 
last  great  lap  alone — Father  Hillaire  rose  trem- 
bling to  stand  in  the  gate  and  grasp  Velan- 
trie's  hand.  ^^  Padre/^  said  the  man  simply, 
"  I've  come  back — to  the  Church  door — and  to 
you." 

"Red?''  asked  the  priest  with  ineffable  sorrow 
in  his  voice. 

"  No.  White,  I  hope.  As  white  as  I  can  ever  be. 
I  am  in  haste,  father — great  haste — and  I  need  you. 
Always  I  have  needed  you,  it  seems — but  more  than 
ever  now." 

He  spoke  rapidly  and  Father  Hillaire  drew  him 
into  the  moonlight  that  he  might  look  into  his  face 
with  yearning  eyes. 

It  was  thinned  a  bit  and  paler. 

"  The  wound?  " 

"  Better.  Almost  well.  It  was  nothing — a 
scratch.  I've  had  many  worse.  But — he  was  the 
man,  padre — you  know  that." 

"  How  well ! "  said  the  other,  "  and  for  how 
long!" 

"  So?    And  you  did  not  tell  me? " 

They  were  speaking  in  the  elemental,  as  if  it  was 
the  time  for  all  hopes,  all  dissimulations,  to  be  laid 
aside. 

"No.    Why  should  I?" 

"  True.     You  were  my  friend." 

Velantrie  laid  his  arm  on  the  shoulders  under  the 


228  yAL  OF  PARADISE 

shabby  cassock  that  seemed  bowing  under  an  invisi- 
ble weight. 

"  Be  my  friend  now,  padre,^^  he  said,  and  there 
was  a  wistful  tone  in  the  rich  voice  that  vibrated 
like  a  string,  ^^I  am  in  great  haste  but  I  want 
something." 

"  Ask,''  said  the  priest  simply. 

"  I  am  no  Catholic — I  am  nothing  in  that  line — 
but,  father — I  am  about  to  die  I  think.  If  I  might 
ask — if  you  would 

"  Such  comfort  as  you  have  for  lost  souls,  padre 
— give  it  me.'' 

Father  Hillaire  wet  his  lips. 

"Die?"  he  asked  stiffly,  "how,  mj  son?" 

"  The  Black  Rustler  rides  tonight — into  a  trap, 
set  and  prepared  by  that  little  arch-fiend,  Lolo  San- 
chez— I  met  her  but  now  by  the  Little  Antelope — 
who  thought  it  was  I  who  would  sprin,?  it.  For 
Tier  sake — ^you  know — for  her  sweet  sake-— well — ^it 
is  I  who  shall  spring  the  trap,  padre^  if  I  can  beat 
him  in,  and  no  one  will  be  the  wiser.  You  know  I 
have  the  Rustler's  fame  about  me  anyway.  .  .  .j 
Can  you  give  me  comfort,  father  dear?" 

The  old  priest  lifted  his  face  and  never  in  his 
long,  hard  life  had  it  been  so  glorified,  so  furrowed 
with  its  tears. 

"  ^  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he 
giveth  his  life  for  his  friend,'  "  he  said  tremulously, 
"  come." 

And  for  the  first  time  Velantrie,  "sometime  of 
the  Border,"  stepped  to  the  little  side  door  of  the 


"GREATER  LOVE  HATH  NO  MAN  "    229 

Mission,  bowed  his  bare  black  head  and  entered. 
Father  Hillaire  lighted  a  taper  on  the  altar  and 
closed  the  doors. 
Yelantrie  knelt  with  his  face  toward  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HOME  TO  THE  i^IELDS  OF  PARADISE 

THE  net  was  drawing  in — drawing  in.  Not  a 
man  on  that  far-flung  line  knew  it  so  well  as 
the  Black  Rustler  himself  who  rode  with 
muffled  hoofs  inside  the  net,  sweeping  this  way  and 
that,  listening,  feeling  for  the  unseen  foe.  His 
bi^in,  always  keen  and  calculating,  counted  the 
ranches  and  the  probable  men  from  each,  the  dis- 
tance they  would  be  from  their  various  starting 
places  by  now.  To  the  northwest  he  went — but  he 
knew  they  were  there.  To  the  north  he  tried  to  go 
— but  he  felt  them  coming  there — from  Paradise — 
the  riders  on  the  fleet  Red  Brood.  Then  he  swung 
in  a  wide  arc  toward  the  Blind  Trail  Hills,  but  left 
them  eastward  and  pushed  north  again — for  there 
was  no  ranch  between  Paradise  and  the  cliffs.  It 
was  a  far  cry,  that  way,  however,  and  he  would 
likely  meet  the  men  from  the  two  outfits  that  lay 
farther  north  yet — ^for  this  vast  net  was  perfect. 
He  had  known  it  would  be.  What  he  had  not 
known,  was  this — that  it  had  been  warned  and 
almost  wholly  set  to  its  pattern  hours  before  the 
fires  were  lighted.  Now,  in  some  flash  of  that  illum- 
inating seventh  sense  that  had  saved  his  skin  so 
many  times  before,  he  knew  that  the  die  was  cast — 
that  he  had  played  his  last  great  game  and  failed. 

230 


'HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    231 

So  he  laid  the  rein  on  his  horse's  neck — that 
same  and  splendid  runner  on  whom  he  had  always 
said  he  would  "  stake  a  lot,"  and  rode  for  the  one 
thing  dearer  to  him  than  life  or  anything  on  this 
earth — the  untarnished  love  of  his  wife. 

Rode  from  east  to  west  inside  the  net,  directly 
across  the  path  of  the  riders  from  the  north. 

The  cottonwoods  in  the  patio  cast  long  black 
shadows  on  the  ranch-house  wall.  Paradise  was 
still  as  death. 

Belle  in  her  deep  chamber  did  not  hear  the  sound 
of  muffled  feet  that  struck  the  flags  by  the  spring — 
nor  Val,  half  lost  to  all  consciousness  before  the 
Virgin  Mary.  They  were,  alas !  slow  feet  and  stum- 
bling, for  poor  Lightning  had  run  as  he  had  never 
run  before — had  covered  killing  miles  at  a  killing 
pace,  had  shown  that  ^'  something  by-ordinary  "  in 
him  of  which  his  master  had  sometimes  spoken. 
Now  he  stumbled  in  beside  the  spring  and  stopped 
with  his  head  hanging  and  the  breath  whistling 
in  his  sides. 

The  man  in  his  saddle  flung  off  his  back  and  en- 
tered with  a  soundless  step  the  darkened  house. 
On  the  sill  he  stopped  and  cast  one  proud  high  look 
at  the  patio,  sharp  in  its  light  and  shadow,  at  the 
sweeping  fields  below,  at  the  corrals  and  all 
the  buildings  lying  so  peacefully  in  the  silent 
night. 

"Th'  best  in  its  line,"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath,  "  th'  best  in  its  line — always." 


232  YAL  OF  PAEADISE 

A  moment  later  Belle  Hannon  stirred  in  her  sleep 
and  said  softly,  "  John." 

The  man  who  stood  beside  the  bed  reached  down 
and  touched  her  gently. 

"  Belle — sweetheart/'  he  said,  "  I'm  here." 

Instantly  she  was  awake,  was  up  and  clinging  to 
him,  her  arms  about  his  neck,  her  lips  against  his 
face.  Little  fluttering  laughter  was  in  her  broken 
words,  she  quivered  with  the  sudden  ecstasy  of  his 
living  presence. 

"  Home  again ! "  she  cried  softly,  "  Oh,  John ! 
My  man ! " 

John  Hannon  sat  down  on  the  bed's  edge  and 
drew  her  close  upon  his  heart,  smoothing  the  soft 
hair  from  her  temples.  He  reached  and  drew  a 
curtain,  letting  in  a  flood  of  the  moonlight  that  he 
might  the  better  see  her  face. 

"  Belle  darling,"  he  said,  "  do  you  love  me?  " 

The  woman  laughed. 

"  Love  you?  I  think  I  adore  you,  John — the  best 
husband,  the  noblest  man  I  ever  knew.  Yes,"  she 
added  soberly,  "may  God  forgive  me,  I  think  it's 
more  than  love." 

"Have  I  made  you  happy,  little  woman? 
Always?" 

"Always,  my  beloved.  But  why  this  serious 
talk? — and  just  at  your  return  when  we  are  always 
so  foolishly  happy?  " 

"I  have  a  desire  to  know,"  he  said. 

"  Then  know — that  never  a  man  in  this  world  but 
you  could  have  made  heaven  on  earth  for  a  blind 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    233 

woman — would  have  been  the  heart  and  soul  of 
honour  in  all  his  dealings  with  her.  Would  have 
been  so  patient,  so  tender,  so  kind  and  withal  so 
true.    Oh,  John,  you  are — next  to  God  to  me." 

John  Hannon  loosed  one  arm  from  about  her, 
drawing  her  nearer  with  the  other,  and  his  fingers 
slipped  softly  to  the  gun  hanging  at  his  hip. 

"  Now  let  me  confess,''  he  said  lightly,  "  come 
in  with  th'  responses  in  this  here  litany  we're  sayin'. 
You  have  ben,  an'  are,  th'  only  star  in  my  sky,  th' 
light  of  my  universe.  I  love  you  better  than  any- 
thing I  possess — lands,  money,  horses  or  our  one 
child.    Better  than  all.    Are  you  happy?  " 

^'  Happy !  "  murmured  Belle.    "  Ah !    Happy !  " 

The  man  bent  his  head  above  her,  put  his  lips  to 
hers  in  one  long  kiss.  The  hand  came  up  from  the 
holster,  the  blue  gun  with  it.  Both  were  steady  as 
a  rock.  The  wondrous  courage  that  had  marked 
the  Black  Rustler  on  the  Border  met  its  greatest 
test  and  did  not  flinch. 

Slowly,  carefully,  the  muzzle  rose,  picking  its 
way  more  surely  than  ever  before.  There  must  be 
no  bungle  here,  no  slightest  slip.  Inch  by  inch  it 
crept  up  along  Belle  Hannon's  throat,  her  fair 
cheek — reached  her  white  temple  and  halted,  just 
opposite  the  spot  where  the  soft  curls  lay.  The 
dark  eyes  of  the  man  burned  on  her  face  in  one 
^.ong  yearning  look. 

And  then  Val  Hannon,  dull  in  her  trance  of 
anguish,  heard  a  shot  that  boomed  in  the  silent 
house  most  monstrously — another  that  followed  on 


234  VAL  OP  PARADISE 

its  heels.  She  drew  her  body  from  the  steps  of  tKe 
pedestal,  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  She  passed  a 
hand  across  her  eyes,  shook  herself  as  if  to  clear 
the  shadows  from  her  brain. 

Shots! 

Something — something  had  happened! 

Then  she  seemed  to  come  out  of  her  own  aban- 
donment of  suffering  with  a  jerk,  to  gather  her  own 
keen  wits.  Almost  instantly  she  was  John  Han- 
non's  daughter,  strong,  alert,  ready,  though  she 
trembled  with  foreboding  as  she  passed  through  the 
shadowed  house  toward  her  mother's  room.  In  the 
living-room  she  met  Fanita,  half -clad  and  fright- 
ened, coming  from  the  servants'  quarters. 

"  What  is  it,  senorita?''  whispered  the  girl. 

"Shots,''  said  Val,  thickly,  "oh— shots!" 

At  the  threshold  of  that  closed  room  she  stopped, 
sick  to  her  soul  with  fear.  Then  she  raised  a  reso- 
lute hand  and  struck  the  panels. 

"Belle!"  she  called  clearly,  "Belle  dear!" 

There  was,  no  sound  and  again  she  called.  Still 
that  awful  silence.  Val  Hannon,  as  her  father 
would  have  done,  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

In  the  bright  square  of  moonlight  from  the  win- 
dow John  Hannon  lay  with  his  wife  upon  his 
breast,  still  with  majestic  peace — and  his  gun  lay 
smoking  in  his  loosened  hand,  while  on  his  face 
there  stood  out,  stark  in  the  moon-glow,  a  broad 
black  velvet  mask! 

Val  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  down  and  the 
heart  in  her  breast  was  stopped.    When  it  laboured 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PAEADISE    235 

on  again  she  relaxed  her  hold  on  the  lintel  and  slid 
weakly  down  along  the  wall.  The  room  and  its 
ghastly  wreck  was  whirling. 

She  saw  her  mother's  smiling  face — the  temple 
beneath  the  curls.  She  saw  her  father's  uncovered 
iron-grey  head,  which  there  was  no  mistaking.  She 
saw  the  revolver  and  the  mask. 

And  then  Val  Hannon  knew.  The  Black  Rus- 
tler !  Ah !  The  Boss  of  Paradise !  The  net — and 
the  signals ! 

How  long  she  sat  crouched  by  the  doorway  she 
did  not  know.  She  heard  Fanita  crying  and  the 
feet  of  the  women  running,  knew  that  dark  terror- 
stricken  faces  filled  the  door  behind  her.  And  she 
knew  that  those  two  in  the  square  of  moonlight 
were  dead — gone  together  into  that  vast  unknown 
which  waits  the  human  soul. 

Gone — her  dad  whose  pride  and  power  in  the 
rangeland  were  unbounded — her  mother  with  her 
high  spirit  and  her  splendid  faith.  Gone — the  love, 
and  the  pride,  and  the  power!  Gone  in  darkness 
and  dishonour,  in  sin  and  arrogance!  But — gone 
together,  these  two  who  had  loved  so  grandly,  and 
who  must  still  love! 

The  Black  Rustler!  Before  her  burning  eyes 
there  came  a  train  of  incidents  and  events,  like 
those  changing  figures  in  a  kaleidoscope.  The  talk 
with  Velantrie  on  the  rim  of  Mesa  Grande — the 
description  of  the  horses  that  tallied  so  sharply — 
the  story  of  the  masked  riders  and  the  camp  in 
Mexico — four  years  ago ! 


236  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

Four  years  ago  John  Eannon  brought  the  Red- 
star  home!  The  day  at  Hunneweirs — the  shots — 
and  the  words  "  kill  me  as  you  killed  my  father,  you 
damned    murderer!      Take    The    Comet   as    you 

took "     Then   her   hand   on    John   Hannon's 

shoulder,  her  face  where  his  had  been,  the  awful 
look  on  Velantrie's  face,  and  the  muttered  words 
"  I — was  mistaken — this  is — not — my  man." 

Oh !  Holy  Mother !  What  a  monstrous  web  was 
this!  And  death  to  crown  it  all — the  only  way! 
The  only  way!  Yes — since  Boyce  Clendenning — 
her  father's  friend,  the  man  her  mother  trusted  to 
catch  the  Black  Bustler — was  at  the  head  of  that 
deadly  net! 

She  heard  the  voices  of  the  women  talking  in 
high  hysteria — a  horse's  hoofs  sharp  on  the  stones 
outside — and  Fanita  speaking  in  her  ear. 

"Oh,  senorita,"  it  was  begging,  "come  quick  to 
the  patio!  There  is  one  who  rides  with  news 
and  who  will  not  be  denied!  Come,  Senorita 
Val!" 

Dully  the  girl  drew  herself  up  along  the  door- 
post, closed  the  door  upon  the  room.  News?  What 
mattered  news?  But  from  force  of  habit  she,  who 
had  always  answered  all  comers  to  Paradise  in  the 
master's  absence,  went  stupidly  out  with  Fanita's 
arms  about  her  to  guide  her  steps. 

In  the  white  light  there  stood  a  stranger.  Or, 
hold — ^not  quite  a  stranger.  It  was  that  slim  boy 
whom  Velantrie  had  brought,  a  long  day  back,  to 
Father  Hillair^  at  Refugio — Mesos  Pecuento. 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    237 

He  stood  holding  a  dripping  horse  and  his  breath 
came  fast. 

^'  Senorita/'  he  said,  speaking  swiftly  in  Spanish, 
^^  I  come  because  Maria  wept  and  would  not  cease. 
She  says  that  one  you  love  rides  into  a  trap  of 
death,  set  to  catch  another.  That  Father  Hillair^ 
gave  him  comfort  for  the  end  in  the  Mission — ^was 
giving  it  when  I  left — for  Maria,  watching,  did  not 
wait  for  the  finish.  She  sends  you  word  that  this — 
one — covers  his  face  with  a  bit  of  black  from  the 
padr&s  torn  cassock — and  rides  a  horse — a  great 
red  horse — like  one  you  know — ^into  the  trap  by 
the  Blind  Trail  Pass — to  save  your  heart  from  hurt. 
But  Maria  says  that  you — know  love — and  that  the 
horses  of  Paradise  are  fleet.  That  only  you  can 
save  him — from  the  Crag  Oak — because  the  Black 
Rustler  is '' 

"  Stop ! ''  cried  Val,  white-lipped,  "  I  know! '' 

She  stood  swaying  uncertainly,  while  the  full 
import  of  the  tumbling  speech  sank  into  her  mind 
and  heart. 

One — Velantrie — rode — to  the  trap  by  the  Blind 
Trail  Pass — knowing —  He  rode  a  great  red 
horse — such  as  that  dim  tradition  of  the  Border 
ascribed  to  the  Black  Rustler — ^its  damning  double. 
He  covered  his  face  with  a  bit  of  the  padre's  cassock 
— Ah,  what  friends !  What  lovers,  these  two — the 
bandit  and  the  priest ! 

That  relentless  net,  drawing  in,  would  catch  him 
— and  the  rest  was  sure. 

Those  two  in  the  moon-lighted  room — they  might 


238  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

sleep  at  Paradise  forever,  secure  in  their  honour 
and  their  fame !  Her  name  and  her  father's  would 
be  forever  clear — at  the  price  of  one  bandit's  life, 
one  old  priest's  silence ! 

What  a  web !    What  a  web ! 

But  she  was  her  mother's  daughter  and  never 
for  one  moment  did  she  think  of  these  things,  save 
to  make  clearer  the  great  light  that  was  breaking. 
She  shook  her  whole  young  body  and  tightened  her 
nerves  to  action. 

"  Fanita,"  she  cried,  "  my  riding  skirt !    Quick ! '' 

To  another  woman  she  flung  a  word,  "  A  horse — 
Lightning " 

But  Lightning  stood  a  little  way  apart,  done  and 
drooping.  Every  ounce  there  was  in  him  he  had 
given  his  master  in  that  last  great  ride. 

"  Then  Red "  But  Eedcloud,  too,  was  beyond 

her  reach.  There  was  nothing  left  in  the  corrals 
of  all  the  matchless  racers,  nothing  to  serve  her  in 
her  need. 

Then  did  Val  Hannon  lose  for  a  moment  her 
faith  and  her  sanity  and  all  the  good  courage  that 
had  stood  by  her  in  these  awful  days. 

"  Gone ! "  she  screamed,  "  all  gone !  He  rides  the 
best  horse  in  the  rangeland — and  I  have  none! 
Death  will  catch  him  first ! " 

She  flung  her  arms  to  the  lighted  skies  and  her 
face  had  lost  its  beauty.  It  was  pinched  and  drawn, 
the  lips  curled  from  the  teeth. 

"Oh,  Redstar!  Kedstar!  If  I  just  had 
you ! " 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    239 

And  half  unconscious  of  what  she  did,  her  very- 
reason  whirling,  she  cupped  her  hands  and  sent 
pealing  out  upon  the  silence  the  piercing  whistle 
of  the  two  notes,  one  rising,  one  falling,  that  had 
been  wont  to  bring  the  racer  to  her  in  the  old  days. 
Far  and  bye  it  carried  in  the  stillness,  far  out  along 
the  levels,  like  a  clarion  call  for  help. 

And  hark !  What  was  that,  faint  and  fine  in  the 
distance,  that  answered  like  its  echo?  The  ringing 
call  of  a  horse — a  running  horse — that  shook  with 
speed  and  rhythm !  The  shrill  high  challenge  of — 
nay,  it  could  not  be  the  king !  Yet  the  girl's  heart 
stopped  to  listen. 

Again  she  called — and  again  it  came — that  keen, 
high  neighing ! 

"  Lord  God  in  Heaven !  "  said  Val  Hannon. 

She  held  her  breath.  Along  the  plain  there  came 
a  sound — a  sound  for  which,  all  these  weary 
months,  she  had  waited  with  a  faith  that  could  not 
die — the  long-roll  of  the  great  king's  feet,  like 
which  there  was  none  other ! 

For  Redstar,  the  king,  came  back  to  Paradise! 
Came  in  strength  and  joy,  like  winds  and  waters 
flowing,  leaving  behind  him  the  walled-in  glade,  the 
slipping  miles,  and  five  astonished  watchers  at  the 
pass  who  had  seen  a  riderless  horse  shoot  by  them 
like  a  rocket ! 

The  girl  at  the  patio^s  edge  leaned  forward, 
straining  her  eyes  to  the  lighted  levels.  Up  along 
the  open  way  he  came,  a  marvellous  sight !  Level  as 
a  bolt,  running  like  the  wind,  his  sounding  feet  a 


240  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

blur  beneath  him,  the  great  cloud  of  his  mane  flow- 
ing back  upon  his  shoulders,  his  long  tail  stream- 
ing— Oh,  the  king — the  king ! — came  home  to  Para- 
dise! 

He  skirted  the  fenced-in  fields  where  he  had 
grazed  in  peace,  and  came  straight  to  the  patio  with 
its  sentinel  cottonwoods.  His  great  hoofs  pounded 
on  the  ringing  stones,  he  stopped  with  a  slide  and 
plunge,  and  his  soft  eyes  shone  like  fox-fire,  his 
nostrils  shook  with  the  eager  whinnyings  that  came 
deep  from  his  chest  and  would  not  cease. 

Val  Hannon  fiung  herself  upon  him,  clung 
to  his  high-arched  neck,  panting  with  the  emo- 
tions of  the  hour  which  were  almost  too  deep  to 
bear. 

And  Redstar  stretched  his  eager  nose  and  smelled 
her  over  from  head  to  foot,  sniffed  at  her  hair, 
nibbled  her  arm,  her  shoulder  and  her  fluttering 
hands.  He  was  home  again  after  weary  exile — 
and  this  was  his  beloved!  His  beloved  by  sight 
and  the  truer  proof  of  scent,  and  he  was  beside  him- 
self with  joy.  The  whinnying  continued  in  his 
throat,  he  stepped  and  pushed  and  nudged  the  girl 
who  clung  against  his  breast.  .    .    . 

And  then  Fanita  came  running  with  a  riding 
skirt — old  Juana  was  dragging  the  saddle  from 
Lightning's  back. 

''  Quick !  "  panted  Val,  "  a  bridle,  too !  " 

It  had  been  long,  long  since  the  Redstar  had 
borne  either,  but  he  steadied  at  the  familiar  proc- 
ess, stopped  his  excited  whinnying. 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OP  PARADISE    241 

And  once  again  the  Prides  of  Paradise  flung  out 
from  its  shadowed  patio.  Once  again  Val  felt  the 
mighty  shoulders  beneath  her  knees,  the  great  mane 
blowing  in  her  face!  It  had  come  true,  that  dim, 
instinctive  prophecy  that  had  bidden  her  wai<with 
patience. 

It  had  come  true — and  in  the  hour  of  her  great- 
est need — the  time  of  her  dire  distress.  The  king 
was  under  her  at  last !    Redstar,  the  mighty ! 

With  the  first  tears  welling  to  her  aching  eyes 
she  leaned  down  and  reached  her  caressing  hands 
along  his  neck. 

^^  Sweetheart,"  she  sobbed,  "Oh,  Sweetheart! 
You've  got  the  thing  I  need — that  I  have  never 
asked  you  for — the  vastest  speed  in  the  rangeland ! 
I  ask  you  for  it  now !  Run— Redstar ! — run !  For 
a  man's  life !  " 

And  she  shook  the  rein  above  him,  loosened  her 
whole  young  body  in  the  saddle,  slouched  forward 
along  his  neck — and  began  the  greatest  ride  that 
she  would  ever  know. 

Redstar  was  lean  and  hard — as  attest  that  deep- 
worn  path  at  the  wall's  foot  in  the  hidden  glade. 
He  had  been  long  in  that  solitude.  He  had  been 
lonely  and  unhappy.  His  gentle  heart  had  ached 
with  the  loneliness,  the  cramping  cliffs  and  the 
silence.  Now  the  great  spread  of  the  open  plains 
lay  out  before  him,  he  felt  the  familiar  creak  and 
wear  of  leather,  the  weight  of  a  rider— and  that 
rider  called  in  his  ear  for  speed ! 

Speed !    Ah,  yes — the  great  king  had  it !    He  had 


242  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

always  had  it — ever  since  those  dim  days  when  he 
had  run  on  a  smooth  circle  with  many  horses  beside 
— behind — him — and  with  cheering  crowds  at  the 
rail's  edge  that  flowed  past  as  he  ran.  He  had  it — 
but  he  had  not  been  called  upon  to  give  it  lately — 
not  since  those  long  mysterious  rides  down  to  the 
Border  with  the  master  in  the  saddle.  Not  since 
those  great  days  when  he  had  been  wont  to  wait 
in  some  thicket — at  some  town's  border — for  the 
rush — the  leap — and  the  getaway — when  he  lay 
down  to  earth  and  left  behind  the  rancher  despoiled 
— the  posse — and  the  sheriff ! 

He  had  it — and  he  gave  it  now,  in  joy  and  glad- 
ness. Val  Hannon  felt  it  spring  to  life  in  every 
working  muscle,  in  the  rising  hum  of  the  drumming 
feet,  in  the  sting  of  the  keening  wind  that  was 
beginning  to  flail  her  cheeks.  For  the  Eedstar 
lay  down  to  earth  once  more — and  ran — for  a 
man's  life. 

The  girl  looked  round  the  stretching  plains.  Far 
to  the  north  she  could  see  streaming  dots  that  were 
the  men  from  the  two  northernmost  ranches.  Out 
to  the  south  she  heard  a  shot  or  two — others  that 
answered — and  knew  that  the  huge  ring  was  draw- 
ing in. 

But  where  in  its  circle  was  Velantrie?  Had  he 
left  Refugio  yet?  Others  must  be  nearer  the  pass 
than  she.  Could  she  cover  the  greater  distance? 
Only  Eedstar  could  answer  that — and  her  heart 
leaped  as  she  listened  to  that  note  of  his  speed  con- 
stantly rising. 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OP  PARADISE    243 

Far  off  to  her  left  she  saw  dim  shapes — and  they 
were  riding  in  the  same  direction — all — all  were 
going  toward  that  ambushed  pass ! 

And  up  from  Refugio,  in  the  southern  centre  of 
the  mighty  amphitheatre,  Velantrie  must  be  riding 
on  The  Comet !  At  last,  after  all  these  years.  The 
Comet  and  The  Meteor  were  thundering  down  the 
land  toward  a  common  goal !  Was  there  anj  thing 
in  all  the  rangeland  that  could  come  near  them  in 
their  pride  and  their  endurance  and  their  wondrous 
speed?  Nothing — save  and  except  that  ungainly 
raw-boned  horse  moiling  this  way  and  that  in  the 
narrowing  net,  giving  its  best  to  no  avail  but  avert- 
ing the  hand  of  destiny  as  long  as  possible.  Tragedy 
rode  at  the  raw-bone's  tail  and  comedy  as  well,  for 
the  Black  Princess,  swift  and  excited,  clung  to  her 
thief's  side  and  would  not  be  beaten  back ! 

The  net  drew  in.  It  had  been  a  wide  net,  indeed, 
and  though  good  horses  made  it  up,  yet  it  had  taken 
toll  of  them.  The  silver  Dollar  under  that  grim  and 
quiet  rider,  Boyce  Clendenning,  was  dark  with 
pouring  sweat.  Three  miles  north  the  beautiful 
Silkskin  ran  with  open  mouth — but  ran  still 
strongly — while  a  claybank  and  a  pinto  pony  at 
widely  divergent  points  kept  inside  the  lessening 
circle. 

And  in  the  centre,  leaving  all  comers  on  the 
fringes,  Val  Hannon  on  Redstar  swept  toward  the 
pass — Velantrie  on  The  Comet  closed  in  to  parallel 
her,  all  unconsciously.  This  was  to  be  the  last  ride, 
the  last  great  fling  of  Velantrie  of  the  Border — of 


244  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

Don  Quixote  Velantrie,  the  sometime  reckless  rob- 
ber of  the  rich,  the  champion  of  the  poor. 

As  he  rode  he  thought  of  many  things — and  these 
thoughts  were  sweet  with  comfort.  He  had  broken 
that  oath,  made  on  his  father's  body,  and  he  was 
traitor  to  his  given  word.  But  love  had  made  him 
traitor — and  who  in  this  world  so  good  a  lover  as 
that  grand  old  man  had  been? 

When  they  met,  as  Velantrie  devoutly  hoped 
they  would,  it  would  be  clean  hands  they  struck 
together,  and  he  could  carry  a  richer  gift  to  show 
than  that  black  revenge  he  had  sought  so  long — the 
holy  gift  of  sacrifice. 

Sacrifice!  The  best  word  in  the  language — all 
save  love,  she  had  said,  because  of  love  was  sacrifice 
born.  Ah,  yes.  Of  loVe  was  sacrifice  born.  Sacri- 
fice to  the  last  great  end — a  man's  life. 

She  had  loved  him — but  she  loved  that  other,  too. 
Perhaps  as  he  had  loved  the  fine  Kentucky  gentle- 
man. .  .  .  Well — he  trusted  The  Comet  to 
make  that  eastern  pass  first.  Then — if  John  Han- 
non  rode  in  that  circle,  as  he  undoubtedly  must,  he, 
Velantrie  would  prove  the  worth  of  those  two 
words — for  Hannon  would,  for  his  life's  sake,  tear 
off  what  disguise  he  might  have  worn — while  he — 
would  wear  still  that  little  piece  of  the  shabby  cas- 
sock, torn  from  Father  Hillaire's  bending  knee! 

At  the  pass  three  more  men  had  joined  the  ambus- 
cade— men  from  the  Flying  Y. 

The  net  closed  in  along  the  cliffs — ^from  north — 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OP  PARADISE    245 

from  south.  To  the  two  riders  sweeping  eastward 
in  the  centre,  the  wall  of  the  cliffs  rose  dark  against 
the  moon.  Soon  the  long  black  arm  of  that  ghastly- 
gallows  tree,  that  Crag  Oak,  would  stand  gro- 
tesquely against  the  moon !  The  girl's  heart  ached 
in  her  breast  and  she  touched  the  stallion's  neck. 
It  was  scarcely  damp. 

She  became  conscious  of  a  rider  on  her  right, 
going  straight  toward  the  pass.  She  strained  her 
eyes  and  her  ears.  From  behind  she  could  hear  the 
long-roll  of  running  horses — drawing  in — drawing 
in! 

Was  it  Velantrie?  The  horse  beneath  him  seemed 
vaguely  familiar,  though  it  was  so  far  away.  There 
was  something  familiar  in  the  way  it  stretched 
along  the  plain,  in  the  mighty  streaming  of  its  tail 
upon  the  wind.  Where  had  she  seen  this  sight 
before?  From  the  top  of  Mesa  Grande  that  long 
past  day  when  the  unknown  horseman  at  his  band's 
head  had  risen  in  his  stirrups  to  wave  his  hat  to 
her! 

That  had  been  the  beginning !  He  had  been  her 
man  from  that  first  moment,  down  through  the 
tense  and  tragic  ones  that  had  seemed  to  attend 
their  meetings  always — down  to  this  awful  one 
when  he  who  should  hate  her  and  all  hers,  rode  to 
his  death  for  their  sake ! 

Nearer  she  leaned  to  the  Redstar's  neck — called 
in  his  ear  with  a  panting  cry — and  the  note  of  his 
running  rose  again!  But  that  other — ^it,  too, 
seemed  gaining  in  speed !    What  had  Velantrie  said 


246  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

once?  Within  two  seconds  of  the  world's  record! 
The  two  fastest  horses  in  the  southwest  went  neck 
and  neck  across  the  plain  in  a  monstrous  race  with 
Death — and  there  was  no  audience  to  see! 

The  saw-tooth  top  of  the  cliff  was  stark  against 
the  sky.  The  black  gut  of  the  pass  loomed  out,  a 
narrow  streak  in  the  face  of  the  wall. 

Nearer !    Nearer ! 

She  could  see  the  great  horse  at  her  right  draw- 
ing in  toward  her,  narrowing  the  distance  between ! 
Ohj  why  did  not  its  rider  look  at  her!  Could  he 
not  see  that  it  was  a  woman  who  rode  The  Comet's 
I'ival? 

But  Velantrie  did  not  turn.  He  was  thinking 
his  last  sweet  thoughts — bidding  her  farewell  in 
the  last  few  moments  that  he  could  call  his  own — 
for  there  were  riders  showing  now  on  every  hand. 

"  Redstar ! "  screamed  Val  above  the  sounding 
hoofs,  "  oh,  sweetheart — beat  him  in !  " 

With  one  last  great  burst  of  speed  the  King  of 
Paradise  shot  magnificently  forward,  thrust  his 
reaching  nose  ahead  of  that  other  and  thundered 
up,  to  slide  and  plough  the  earth  into  flying  fur- 
rows, to  stop  at  the  rifles'  mouth  with  his  rider's 
arms  upraised,  as  if  to  guard  the  masked  man  who 
slid  to  a  stop  behind. 

A  dozen  hands  were  on  her  rein,  and  his — hard- 
eyed  and  desperate  faces  circled  them  on  every  side 
— and  a  mass  of  horsemen  were  thundering  up 
from  all  points. 

"Th'  Black  Rustler! ''  they  cried  as  they  surged 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    247 

about.  "  We've  got  him,  boys !  An'  his  lieutenant. 
— ^with  th'  goods!  Here's  Black  Princess  doggin' 
th' thief!" 

Hustled  forward  from  behind  a  raw-boned  horse, 
panting  and  wet,  bore  into  the  front  a  huge  figure 
of  a  man,  swearing  in  fury  and  tearing  at  the  for- 
gotten mask  upon  his  face. 

"Two!"  the  voices  cried,  "th'  two-man  trick 
again ! " 

But  Val  Hannon  rose  in  her  stirrups  and  flung 
up  a  tragic  arm. 

"Stop!"  she   cried.  "Stop!" 

They  paid  slight  heed  to  her  at  first,  for  eager 
hands  were  on  Velantrie's  rein. 

"  Th'  horse ! "  they  cried,  "  The  wonderful  horse ! 
Th'  Black  Rustler's  horse !  Ain't  no  mistakin'  him ! 
It's  too  well  known !  " 

But  Val  raised  her  own  voice  to  a  commanding 
cry. 

"  Look ! "  she  cried.    ^^  At  mine!  ^^ 

The  tone  caught  the  crowd  and  a  second's  silence 
fell. 

"  Look  at  these  two  horses !    Look  hard,  men !  " 

The  crowd  dropped  apart  a  bit  the  better  to  obey. 

In  astounded  silence  they  stared  hard  at  the  two 
red  stallions.  Colour  for  colour — size  for  size — 
proud  head  for  proud  head — they  were  the  same! 
Bewilderment  sat  upon  the  faces  of  the  ranchers. 

"What's  this?"  said  Boyce  Clendenning  at  last, 
"Miss  Hannon — what  is  this?  " 

Val  turned  desperately  to  him. 


248  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

^^It  is  that — "  she  caught  her  breath  pitifully 
and  then  went  swiftly  on,  "  that  /  ride — the  Black 
Rustler's  famous  horse — Redstar  of  Paradise!  And 
that'' — once  more  she  caught  her  breath  in  that 
piteous  gasp — she  who  had  been  so  proud  of  all 
that  the  name  of  Hannon  stood  for — "  and  that — 
the  Black  Rustler  himself — my  father,  gentlemen — 
John  Hannon,  lies  at  home  in  his  wife's  bedroom — 
with — with — "  she  choked  and  stopped. 

Not  a  man  in  that  panting  circle  but  caught  his 
breath  and  held  it  in  waiting  horror. 

" — With  a  bullet  in  his  head  and — ^with  Belle 
Hannon — dead  upon  his  breast !  " 

A  sharp  sigh  cut  into  the  tragic  silence.  It  came 
from  the  lips  of  Velantrie,  sitting  like  stone  in  his 
saddle. 

"  Too  late! "  he  breathed.    ''  Too  late! '' 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  men. 

"  Good  God ! "  said  Boyce  Clendenning,  help- 
lessly, "  are  you  mad,  Val?  " 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  but  desperately  in  earnest. 
Ride  with  me  to  Paradise — and  prove  it.  This 
man,"  she  turned  to  Velantrie  and  held  out  a  steady 
hand,  the  unshaking  hand  of  a  woman  strong, 
courageous  to  the  foundations  of  her  heart. 

"  This  man  was  my  father's  enemy.  He  came  to 
the  rangeland  to  find — and — kill  him — ^for — for  an 
old  score,"  once  more  she  halted  in  the  abasing  of 
her  pride,  but  that  deep  truth  and  courage  whipped 
her  on,  '^  a  Mood  score,  gentlemen " 

"  Ah ! — Hunnewell's — "  some  one  gasped. 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    249 

"  Yes — Hunneweirs/'  said  Val,  ''  but  John  Han- 
non  beat  him  to  it — he  was — was  the  best  shot,  you 
know '' 

The  best  shot !  Yes — the  Rustler  was  known  all 
up  and  down  the  Border  for  that ! 

"  And  then — then — this  man — Velantrie — met 
me — in  the  padre's  garden — and  we  came  to  love 
each  other." 

She  told  it  simply,  in  the  bare  stress  of  the 
moment. 

"  So  when  he  found  that  my  father — his  enemy 
— was  to  ride  into  the  trap — he  took  a  piece  of  the 
padre's  cassock  for  a  mask — and " 

But  her  voice  trailed  off  to  silence.  She  was 
drained  dry  of  effort,  of  anything. 

Gently  Velantrie  closed  his  fingers  on  that  reach- 
ing hand  and  came  abreast  of  her.  He  pulled  off 
the  black  trifle  that  had  covered  his  eyes  and  faced 
the  throng. 

^'  Gentlemen,"  he  said,"  may  I  take  Miss  Hannon 
back  to  the  padre  at  the  Mission?  There  are  women 
there,  and  her  good  friend,  the  priest.  You  may 
send  an  escort " 

"No,"  said  Boyce  Clendenning  with  an  effort, 
"Val  Hannon's  word  is  plenty.  Take  her  now. 
We'll  go  to  Paradise,  Val,"  he  finished  with  a  heavy 
pain  at  his  loyal  heart,  "don't  come  until  tomor- 
row." 

What  Clendenning  felt  at  that  moment  only  his 
own  heart  would  ever  know — he  who  had  succeeded 
in  ridding  the  cattle  country  of  its  enemies. 


250  VAL  OF  PAEADISE 

He  had  succeeded  better  than  he  had  planned! 
He  could  see  the  face  of  his  friend,  John  Hannon — 
sharp  and  sparkling,  helping  him  in  those  very 
plans — the  face  of  that  sweet  blind  woman — !  He 
groaned  aloud,  unnoticed  in  the  surging  crowd  that 
was  breaking  from  its  spell. 

With  the  moon  above  them  and  the  black  arm  of 
the  Crag  Oak  reaching  grotesquely  for  its  promised 
burden,  Velantrie  and  Val  Hannon  turned  and  rode 
away  across  the  rangeland,  with  silence  on  their 
lips,  but  with  hands  clasped  in  a  love  that  held  the 
monstrous  hour  steady,  set  a  light  in  the  future  to 
guide  their  sorrow-shaken  souls. 

And  an  hour  later  there  was  nothing  at  the  pass 
— save  the  Crag  Oak  groaning  with  the  burden  that 
swayed  upon  the  breeze,  a  huge  and  heavy  burden, 
its  bearded  blond  face  leering  in  the  light,  for 
Brideman  had  paid  the  penalty  for  a  long  life  of 
sin,  and  for  trusting  in  a  woman  of  Lolo  Sanchez* 
kind. 

Lolo — who  had  sold  herseK  to  him — and  had  sold 
him  to  the  ranchers,  thinking  she  was  selling  them 
a  better  man  as  well !  Lolo — ^who  sat  on  her  pinto 
pony  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliflf  beyond  the 
crowd  and  watched  the  working  of  her  magic  with 
bitter,  frowning  eyes. 

Fall  was  sweet  upon  the  rangeland.  Cool  winds 
blew  over  it,  high  blue  skies  were  cupped  above  it, 
and  the  sweeping  levels  were  no  longer  green. 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    251 

At  Eefugio  where  the  walled-in  garden  was  mel- 
low with  late  light,  Father  Hillair6  stood  in  the 
ever-open  gate  and  watched  two  figures  going  away 
into  the  northwest  where  the  sunset  was  painting 
all  the  brown  reaches  with  a  million  brilliant 
shades. 

They  were  a  man  and  a  woman  and  they  rode  two 
splendid  horses,  red  as  the  sunset,  proud  creatures 
that  stepped  with  the  same  wide  grace,  their  regal 
heads  high  on  their  arching  necks,  their  long  tails 
flowing — The  Comet  and  The  Meteor,  though  he 
would  never  be  anything  but  Eedstar  the  King  to 
the  girl  who  loved  him,  pacing  home  to  Paradise 
together. 

The  figures  in  the  saddles,  riding  slowly  with 
hands  clasped  and  swinging  between  them,  with 
their  faces  turned  to  each  other  in  that  mystic  won- 
der of  perfect  love,  were  Don  and  Val  Velantrie, 
fresh  from  the  padre's  ministrations  at  the  altar 
of  the  Church.  On  Father  Hillair^  a  great  peace 
had  settled  down,  a  splendid  joy  shone  in  his  tender 
face  and  he  raised  his  hand  and  made  the  sign  of 
blessing  above  them,  though  they  were  so  far 
away. 

A  month  had  passed  since  that  one  great  night. 
The  winter  would  soon  be  closing  down — with  its 
loneliness  and  its  memories. 

This  had  had  great  weight,  this  thought  of  the 
girl  in  the  tragedy-haunted  house,  in  bringing  Vel- 
antrie to  the  present  moment. 


252  VAL  OF  PARADISE 

^^  I  can't,  Val/'  he  had  said  at  first  bitterly,  "  how 
can  I  come  to  Paradise?  " 

"How  can  you  not?  "  she  had  asked  simply,  "  I 
need  you.  All  Paradise  will  need  you — and  Par- 
adise owes  you  much/'  she  had  finished  with  a 
tremor  of  her  lips. 

So  he  had  laid  aside  what  thought  he  might  have 
had  of  a  new  world,  a  different  beginning.  This 
was  her  home  and  her  country.  Here  were  her  mem- 
ories— and  her  graves.  Therefore,  if  she  wanted 
him — here — why — what  was  there  under  the 
shining  canopy  that  she  could  have  asked  of  him  in 
vain? 

So  now,  at  the  end  of  a  gorgeous  day  they  rode 
together  into  the  autumn  sunset,  up  along  the  wide 
levels — looked  at  Mesa  Grande  towering  toward  the 
west — and  came  at  last  to  the  patio  where  the  dusky 
women  stood  behind  the  riders  to  give  them  greet- 
ing. 

All  were  there — Fanita,  old  Juana,  Miguel  and 
Arias  and  Felicita — all  save  that  slim  youth,  Jos6. 
A  month  ago,  on  the  heels  of  the  great  night,  Tom 
Briston  had  dropped  a  heavy  hand  suddenly  on 
Josh's  shoulder  and  whirled  him  to  face  his  accus- 
ing eyes. 

"  Now  where,"  he  had  said  hardly,  "  did  you  have 
th'  Redstar  hid?  "  And  the  vaquero^  startled  out 
of  his  usual  calm,  had  answered  helplessly,  "  In 
the  Blind  Trail  Hills,  senor— at  the  Senor  Boss's 
orders." 

^^Like  I  thought.     Well— Paradise  won't  need 


HOME  TO  THE  FIELDS  OF  PARADISE    253 

you  any  more/'  the  foreman  had  told  him  pointedly, 
and  Jos6  had  gone  with  the  dawn. 

Perly,  Siff,  Eosy  and  Dirk  stood  now  and 
watched  with  somewhat  hostile  eyes  their  Val  come 
home  to  them  belonging  with  all  loving  heart  to  the 
quiet  man  who  rode  beside  her. 

It  was  Briston,  the  foreman,  who  stood  forth  to 
greet  them  first  with  a  warm,  close  clasp,  almost  as 
friendly  for  the  one  as  for  the  other. 

Always  he  was  the  perfect  friend — and  if  he 
knew  what  he  had  meant  that  day  beyond  the  sim- 
ple words,  ^'  th'  good  man  is  th'  one  who  can  deal 
squarely  by  his  fellows  .  .  .  who  can  love  one 
woman  either  rewarded  or  unrewarded  .  .  .  who 
can  sacrifice,"  he  gave  no  sign  as  he  held  Velan- 
trie's  hand. 

But  Val,  smiling  down  upon  him  in  her  quiet 
joy,  knew  that  he  would  be  Velantrie's  strongest 
staff  in  a  somewhat  trying  place  and  loved  him 
better  for  it.  Then  she  swung  off  Eedstar  and  saw 
him  trot  away  beside  his  double. 

To  Velantrie  she  turned  those  long  dark  eyes, 
shining  with  the  light  that  would  burn  for  him 
alone  so  long  as  life  lasted. 

^^  You  have  come  back,  Don,"  she  whispered,  "  as 
I  said  you  would — always — to  the  Church  door  and 
tome!"  • 

"  To  stay,"  answered  Velantrie,  "  sometime  of  the 
Border,"  as  he  bent  and  kissed  her  softly. 

THB  BND 


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